


Aubade

by Fangirl_Shrieks



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance, Supernatural Elements, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 73,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24498847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirl_Shrieks/pseuds/Fangirl_Shrieks
Summary: "You'll never see anything as glorious as a 5000-year-old emissary of the night cussing out a soap dispenser." OR Percy would consider himself fairly normal: he enjoyed quality shitposts, nihilism, and trashy supernatural TV shows—he just never thought he'd be living one. When Percy gets caught up in vampire politics, he turns to a certain blonde to make him feel more human again.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

Percy had always liked TV. He could quote all of season one of Teen Wolf; he was the biggest Castiel stan; he could do a pretty good Yoda impression that made Grover snort milk out of his nose; Once Upon A Time was his new religion; and even though Percy was pretty sure he was straight, he had an unhealthy obsession with Damon Salvatore from Vampire Diaries. (But who didn't, right?)

It was _because_ he marathon-binged trashy teenage shows like the diehard fan he was that he had grown accustomed to the part in every show where the main character stands in a deserted alleyway, about to be beat up or some other crazy adrenaline-inducing shit.

He just never thought he'd be one of those people.

Percy always used to laugh with Piper when that part came on, saying ' _if that was me, I_ totally _would've knocked him out!'_ Apparently it wasn't as easy as it looked.

Percy's kicking and flailing was getting him nowhere. He also knew he wasn't the strongest guy in the world, but he went to the gym pretty often—a side-effect of his troublesome ADHD—and he could _usually_ beat most guys in a round of arm-wrestling. Unfortunately, the freaking beast in front of him liked making him seem like a squishy marshmallow because this guy was _ripped_.

Percy struggled against the taller guy's anaconda muscles. His head cracked against the brick behind him, causing his vision to tunnel, dancing with black spots.

 _This is how it ends_ , Percy thought to himself, feeling dizzy. He wasn't even stupid enough to walk into an alleyway—he was born in Manhattan, okay; even he knew that was a stupid-person move—but he was _dragged_ into it. A hand had just shot out while he was walking down the street, clasping him around his midsection and yanking him into a gloomy back road. Percy doubled over at the next punch to the gut, nearly throwing up.

"You can have my wallet," Percy caved. "I don't want any trouble." He panted against the brick wall, trying to catch his breath as the mugger backed away momentarily. Percy held up a brown wallet between his forefingers, his other hand poised up in surrender. He was a lover, not a fighter, and he didn't want to die (obviously). He still had to finish season two of the Chilling Adventures of Sabrina. He squinted in the dark of the night, trying to make out his attacker, but it was pitch black.

Percy's neck throbbed, and he knew there would be bruises tomorrow morning from the guy's fingers digging mercilessly into his soft skin.

White teeth gleamed across from him in the trashy, bleak alleyway, sending involuntary chills down Percy's spine.

"There's-there's something wrong with your eyes—"

The last thing Percy saw was glowing, bronze irises before it all went dark.

…

Percy woke with a start, shivering, his cheeks numb with cold. He cracked his eyes open and carefully inspected his unfamiliar surroundings. His head was pounding like a bitch, and he found himself wondering if he had a concussion. Surely, knocking your head into cement that many times wasn't _healthy._

Someone had propped his head up on a cushy, maroon pillow, and he laid on slippery, inky silk sheets. He groaned, slowly and painfully sitting up. It was _freezing_ , and despite the thin forest green blanket laid over him, he wrapped his arms around himself on instinct.

The room had a single loveseat—the couch he was lounged upon—in the center, and the curtains were tightly drawn shut. The walls were a light grey, and there a wall of exposed, rustic brick. His eyes widened fractionally when he noticed the chains buried into the bottom half of the wall, messily splayed across the ground without any rhyme or reason. Percy felt a lump form in his throat. Was this some torture dungeon or something? Where _was_ he? He couldn't even hear the honking and familiar traffic of New York anymore, a frightening realization.

He snapped out of his speculation, though, when two shadows seeped from under the crack of the wooden door in the corner of the room. He felt himself holding his breath out of habit.

"Is he okay?" he heard someone ask outside the door. Their voice was raspy but indefinitely feminine/

"I don't know," a slightly lower, male voice remarked, his tone dry. He had a slight accent, a mixture of Italian and something else, something ancient, dark, smooth. "Do humans usually just lay there like that?"

"You don't have to be an ass about it," the first person grumbled, and he heard the guy say mumble something in response, but before Percy could make out the words, the door swung open inward.

"Oh, good. You're awake," the girl said, but there was no emotion in her voice. She had short, spiky black hair, and pale skin, a light dusting of freckles peppering the bridge of her nose. Thick eyeliner surrounded her electric blue eyes—both the scariest and prettiest eyes Percy had even seen—and her lips were a rich, deep purple-red. Most fascinating of all were the star-shaped pupils in her eyes. She was tall and lean, maybe only four or five inches shorter than him, and she was adorned in black. Lots and lots of it.

A leather choker wrapped tightly around her neck, and there was a red gem at the end of a corded necklace pulsing at the base of her neck like a heartbeat. It made Percy uneasy. Chains wrapped around her waist and her shirt advertised Green Day. Overall, she seemed like she would fit in nicely with the other punk-rock kids at Percy's high school.

His gaze drifted to the skinny guy standing next to her. The boy was maybe an inch shorter than she was and somehow, despite the girl's white skin, impossibly paler. His hair was shaggy and messy, and his irises were such a dark hue of brown Percy could have mistaken them for black. He too seemed to favor the darker colors like his female counterpart, his obsidian t-shirt displaying a terrifyingly grinning skull. Gleaming silver rings wrapped around his long, pale fingers. Whereas the girl seemed like she would actually be a year or two older than Percy, this boy seemed young, maybe fourteen at best. Neither of them seemed to flinch at all from the cold, and Percy shifted uncomfortably in the cushions.

"Who are you?" Percy demanded, trying to harness his inner Dean Winchester and maybe seem somewhat brave.

The guy glanced at the girl, and she just shrugged before turning to Percy.

"I'm Thalia," she said. The boy scowled at her, and Percy shuddered involuntarily at the expression on his face. "And this is Nico."

There was something sinister about the both of them, like they could kill him if they wanted to, but they just didn't want to. Not yet, at least. Percy's fingers dug into the blanket. It still felt like someone was stabbing a knife repeatedly into his brain.

But there was also something undeniably… ethereal about them. Percy almost wanted to move closer to the boy especially, even if everything inside of him was screaming to back away, that they could tear him to shreds, ribboning him into a bloody mess. Nico's eyes drew him in, and when Percy locked eyes with him, his mind sort of took a vacation. He could smell something sweet, a scent he couldn't quite put his finger on, but it was addictive nonetheless. Percy wanted to be closer, wanted to feel the scent envelop him wholly, choking him, drowning him, _ending_ him—

"Nico, cool your pheromones. You're killing the guy."

Percy blinked, the spell momentarily disrupted.

Nico frowned at Thalia. "I can't help it."

"Excuse me," Percy interrupted, growing impatient. "Where am I? Who are you people? What am I _doing_ here?" He sulked. He was tired of all this secrecy and not knowing where he was.

Thalia eyed him curiously. "You don't remember?"

"I told you," said Nico. "They really did a number on him. He probably has a concussion. Weak humans."

Percy was never particularly fond of humanity—he preferred dogs and kittens and adorable, fluffy things—but his features crinkled in indignation nonetheless. And confusion. "Aren't you human too?" Perspiration beaded on his forehead; he didn't like where this was going.

Thalia gave him a long look, a muscle twitching in her cheek before she cracked, laughing to herself. "No," she revealed, and she grinned. Her teeth were straight and pearly white. She snapped her right fingers, her black fingernails momentarily flashing through the air, and a dark cloud of black _fire_ erupted from her hand. Her eyes _glowed_ blue, and the star pupils blazed gold.

All the color drained from Percy's face, and he jerked backward, falling out of the loveseat. He scrambled back, hugging the wall in pure fear. "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy _shit_ —"

"Thalia," Nico snapped, and the fire dissipated at her will, her eyes dimming back to the regular shade of blue.

"Look, I don't know what kind of games you guys are playing here, but I don't like voodoo, or—or black magic, and I really just want to go home, please," Percy breathed, his heart pounding out of his chest. He made a move to the door, delusionally perhaps, and in the blink of an eye Nico was in front of the door. Percy pointed a shaky finger to the space right next to Thalia. "I swear you were just standing…" he trailed off, his lips parting in surprise. His mouth went dry.

Up close, Nico's scent was even stronger, overtaking Percy completely. This time Nico half-smiled, an ominous ghost of a smile that once was, and Percy stumbled, falling to his knees. His skin stung immediately, and he glanced down to see a speckle of blood pooling in the fleshy part of the palm of his hand. Percy clutched his hand close to his chest, his head snapping up at the boy towering over him.

Percy was paralyzed in terror at what he saw next: in the corners of Nico's mouth, at the sight of his blood, two sharp fangs unsheathed on their own, piercing Nico's bottom lip, but the boy seemed unfazed. A ring in his eyes lit up, burning a blood red, burning holes in Percy's soul, and then the pounding in head finally overtook Percy, and he passed out for the second time.

...

"Fuck, keep him still."

"I _am_."

"Well, you're not doing a good job, now are you?"

"You're a shitty warlock—"

"You're a warlock?" Percy croaked, his voice hoarse as he became conscious once more. He blinked, glancing up. Nico's fingers were cold against his neck, clammy, keeping him still. Percy didn't dare move. Something told him Nico was strong enough to rip his head apart from his spine like it was child's play.

"Yes," Thalia agreed cheerfully, her magic soothing and warming despite its dark color. It was like a dull blanket was covering him, and Percy oddly found comfort in it.

"What are you doing?" Percy croaked.

"Healing you. Duh," said Thalia, rolling her eyes. Sassy. "I thought that was obvious. You really banged up your head, didn't you? That won't happen anymore, I guess."

"What do you mean?"

Thalia blinked, stepping back, and Nico released his death grip on him.

"Percy, have you seen yourself at all since you passed on the first time?" Thalia's eyebrows furrowed together, and she frowned at him.

His blood ran cold. "How do you know my name?"

She tossed his wallet back at him, his driver's license hanging out precariously. "Oh." His eyes flickered back up to meet her gaze. "No, I haven't," he answered truthfully, "though I'm sure I look like hell."

Thalia flicked her hand toward a tall, Victorian-esque mirror with a gold crown mold around it's exterior, keeping the flawless glass in. "Just don't… freak out, okay?"

Percy stared at her. "You can do magic, and he has _fangs_." He gestured to Nico. "I think I'm in shock at this point."

She didn't smile, and she turned the mirror to face him.

Percy peered curiously, freezing when he saw his skin. The first thing he noticed was that there was dirt in his hair and streaking parts of his face. Dried blood coated the tight skin around his mouth. Percy felt sick at the sight. He was paler than he once was, and the dark circles under his eyes had faded completely, the marks of a true high school student. Most important, however, was the delicate flesh on his neck. He tilted his chin up and traced the two puncture holes with his fingers curiously. Percy froze, though, when Thalia gently guided his fingers up to the delicate pulse point under his jaw.

He glanced at her in confusion. "Feel my pulse?" he queried. She nodded slowly, biting her lip in anticipation and nervousness. Nico's expression was impassive, giving nothing away.

Frowning to himself, Percy reached up to take his pulse, only to find there was none at all. He laughed nervously. He had to be going crazy; surely this was a mistake. He had not taken pulses since the mandatory CPR portion of health class in freshman year, and he was approaching the end of his junior year now. Maybe he was just doing it wrong.

Percy looked to Thalia, trying to push down the fear written so clearly across his face, but he could not disguise it, not now. "I think I'm doing it wrong," he clarified, his voice thick with emotion. "Can you show me how?"

Thalia didn't move.

"Thalia? Nico?"

Nico's lips pressed tight together. "Allow us to _properly_ introduce ourselves. This is Thalia Grace, high warlock of Manhattan. She's a good friend of mine, and I was hoping she could trace your puncture holes back to another clan so I can figure out who's behind the killings." He paused. His fangs were gone now, Percy noted with mild fascination, as if they only unsheathed at the sight and smell of blood. Retractable. "And I'm Nico di Angelo."

Percy felt the hole in his stomach expand, leaving him queasy. _The killings?_ "You're not a warlock." That much, at least, Percy had deduced. Nico was different from Thalia, more charming, and he didn't seem to be able to _do_ magic, and he had a different accent, whereas Thalia's voice was just regular American. Besides, Thalia didn't have fangs.

Nico shifted his weight to his other leg. "I'm the head of the New York vampire clan."

…

Percy rubbed the temples on his forehead with his index fingers.

"So let me get this straight." Thalia had cleaned all the disgusting mud and dirt off him with a snap of her fingers—a rather neat trick, actually. (He wished he could do that with his room). "A vampire of an unidentified cult in New York City bit me. Vampire saliva spreading into the bloodstream has the possibility to turn humans into vampires, but only if they die a mortal death. Apparently, the vampire sucked all my blood out, leaving me hollow. You guys found me, drained the remaining drops of my blood, buried me in dirt, recited a bunch of hocus pocus—"

"Latin," Thalia interrupted, the expert on magic.

Percy ignored her, still trying to come to terms with this. "Latin," he corrected, unbothered by the details at this point. "And I crawled out of my own grave, and you weren't allowed to help. You," he pointed to Nico, "fed me bags of animal blood so I wouldn't devour humans on the street because newborns are extremely bloodthirsty."

"We call them fledglings, actually. Not newborns," said Nico.

"Okay, fine. Fledglings." Percy paused. "So the demon strain that causes vampirism causes uncontrollable aggression, mostly associated with the thirst for blood."

Nico nodded. "That's why I had to feed you and haul you here before you started murdering people." He leaned back in his seat. The movement was so graceful Percy found himself staring. "An orphaned fledgling—one with no guidance or clan to support it—will have little to no idea about what's happened to it, and it won't know how to feed safely or even to stay out of the sunlight."

Percy glanced to the closed curtains with understanding.

"Because of this, clans are very important, and if a head vampire doesn't oversee a rising of a vampire, usually warlocks will alert us. Thalia found you, actually. She's been keeping a lookout for new human attacks with this cult _thing_ spreading rapidly."

"And now I don't have a pulse, and I'm a… vampire?" Percy confirmed, his voice quiet.

Thalia nodded slowly. "Sounds about right."

"You don't need to breathe, either," Nico interrupted.

Percy focused on his lungs for a moment and quickly realized he wasn't breathing at all. It was a strange sensation. "That's so weird."

At that, Nico smiled reluctantly. Nico, Percy had discovered, had a permanent straight face, a resting bitch face, and it was difficult to coax a smile out of him. "You'll find, I think, that many vampires still pretend to breathe when trying to pass as human, or some even gasp because they're dramatic as hell."

Percy smiled too, Nico's smile contagious.

"That also means we can't drown from lack of oxygen in water or suffer from poisonous gases," Nico mentioned. "Plus, you're naturally more attractive as a vampire. We lure in our prey, and we feed. That's probably why you were tripping all over the place when you first saw me. My pheromones are old and they take getting used to. Yours will mess with people too."

Percy had to admit that was pretty cool, and, hey, being sexy as hell was never a bad thing. "And why don't I remember rising from the dead or any of this happening?"

Nico shrugged one shoulder. "Most vampires don't. I don't remember my rising."

"So I drink blood?"

"You already have," Thalia pointed, unhelpfully. Percy scowled at her.

"You do," Nico agreed. "That's another thing: you can't eat human food anymore."

Percy felt like his world was ending, and sure it was probably a little melodramatic considering he had bigger issues on his hands, like being a fucking _vampire_ , but he really liked pizza, and blue food, and this was _not_ okay.

"What?" he hissed.

"You get sick, and you can't digest it," Nico continued, calmly. "Some of us who have lived for longer," he gestured to himself, "have trained ourselves to consume some foods, though we usually end up spitting most of it out. I can down some McDonalds here or there, but it takes time."

Percy blinked. This really wasn't how he imagined his Friday evening going.

"Out of curiosity, how old _are_ you?" he finally asked. Nico talked like he was an old guy despite looking early in his teens.

"Well I died when I was fourteen," said Nico, distractingly tapping his fingers against the side of the coffee table. That was another thing—vampire senses were heightened. Percy had always had good vision, but it was flawless now, and he heard every sound, smelled everything. It was overwhelming, really. "But I've been fourteen since about 3000 B.C."

Percy's jaw dropped. As he slowly recovered, he managed to turn to Thalia. "And you?"

"Warlocks don't die; they're the products of half demon, half mortal," Thalia explained. "But we're also immortal, so…" She thought for a moment. "I'm only about 50 or so."

"Years?" asked Percy. He figured she changed her image, magic and all, to look young forever. She appeared barely eighteen.

She looked at him oddly. "No," she began slowly. "50,000 years."

"Oh." Percy licked his lips hesitantly. "What was it like seeing the pyramids being built?" he asked Nico, genuinely curious. At this point, he had already accepted the fact that he was losing his mind.

"Fuck if I know; I was in Madagascar," Nico drawled.

"Oh, okay. How about the Renaissance?"

Thalia smirked, and Nico rolled his eyes.

"I fell down a hole in Scotland, and people thought I was an enchanted well for four hundred years. It was over by the time I convinced someone to get me out."

Percy laughed. "That sucks."

"Indeed." Nico shifted in the chair across from Percy.

"So does that mean we can never die?" Percy inquired, leaning forward. Thalia slowly shook her head.

"We have weaknesses too, Percy," Nico rejected. "Fire, for some reason, is pretty dangerous. Sunlight, also, burns. Don't do that. Holy water and symbols burn us if we were religious in our previous life, but, like food, some of us can learn to say them again. But if you weren't religious at all, they won't have any effect on you, so you don't need to worry about it."

Percy's eyebrows together. "You mean I can't say 'oh my g—'" The word caught in his throat, burning. He blinked in surprise.

"No, you can't say god," Nico confirmed, the word strained even for him. "I've trained myself to, and maybe you can too with time."

"So that's it? Fire, sunlight, and… the big G?"

Nico thought for a moment. "Silver is toxic, but we don't die from it. It's just pain, headaches, nausea—all that joy."

Percy pointedly glanced to Nico's rings.

"It's fake," he explained, noticing the way his eyes darted down. "Oh, and bleeding us dry or cutting off our head is fatal too. So are wooden stakes to the heart."

Percy felt his stomach twist. "What about my mom?" he queried, asking what had been plaguing him along. "I have a little sister, you guys." Estelle Blofis AKA the light of his life. "And a step-dad." Paul.

Nico's face hardened. "I used to visit my sister and mom when it was dark, excused my absence in the day for work. It's a little different now in modern society. You have school, don't you?"

"I'm not even seventeen yet," Percy conceded. "Yes, I have school, awful hell that it is." He tried to lighten the mood, but it didn't keep the news of his family from dampening his mood.

"Yeah, I don't know, Percy. We'll have to figure it out. I don't know if you'll be able to see your family again."

They were quiet for some time.

"Other questions?" Nico prompted.

"We drink animal blood?"

Nico hesitated, pondering. "Well. We _can_ drink human blood," he explained, knowing exactly what Percy was _really_ asking. "It's obviously better quality, and it tastes fresher. You'll like it a lot more, and because our saliva heals—"

"It does?" Percy interrupted.

Nico gritted his teeth. "You really don't know how to keep quiet, do you?" Thalia smirked at Nico's irritation.

Percy sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I have ADHD."

Nico blinked. "Oh. That makes a lot more sense, actually." His expression fractionally softened. "Yes, it heals. Here." He licked his pointer finger (and Percy wasn't gay, but holy shit vampires were attractive) and pressed it against the puncture marks on Percy's neck.

Percy hastily turned to the mirror in time to watch, stupefied, as the fang marks disappeared entirely, slowly but surely. "Mine does that too?"

Nico nodded, smugly. "Yes."

"Well, isn't that nifty?" Percy muttered to himself, still gazing at his neck in awe.

"Back to the blood," Nico gently redirected. "The laws don't say we can't drink from humans because our saliva heals them. In fact, mixed with the saliva, it can even be a pleasurable sensation for them." He shrugged. "There's even vamp clubs and all that, and humans are often addicted to having their blood drawn. Point is, as long as we don't kill the human from drinking too much, we're allowed to drink. Most forget the memory. But a lot of vampires choose to stick to animal blood just because it's so hard to stop feeding once you begin; it takes self control, and that only comes with time and practice."

"Humans know about us?"

"A few," Nico admitted. "Most think we're normal, or they think we're a little shady since their pets won't stop barking at us—we smell predatorial, metallic to animals—but some we call subjugates are humans who vampires keep around to feed on when they're short on blood. They're usually pretty loyal because one, they're addicted to the feeling of being fed from and from tasting _our_ blood, and two, they hope the vampires will turn them into vampires as well once they die. Although, if they're only fed from once or twice, sometimes the effects wear off after time, but most find themselves drawn to the place or the vampire who first fed from them, or they fed from, and so they become hooked." Nico's face morphs into a more serious one. "Our blood is powerful, Percy, and it's like a drug to humans. Be careful."

Percy swallowed thickly. "Okay." He didn't really fancy the idea of creepily keeping a human around anyway.

Percy pulled away from the mirror. Nico had been right about the attractive thing also. His muscles were leaner, more well-defined, and his jawline was sharper. His sea-green eyes had brightened dramatically, his eyelashes were longer and thicker, and his lips were fuller and pinker. Piper would have squealed in excitement if she could've seen him. Looking in the mirror, Percy remembered another detail.

"Why can I see my reflection?"

Thalia laughed. "That's a myth."

Percy stared at her for a long time, but she only smiled kindly.

"Percy, just because _most_ of the stories are true doesn't mean _all_ of them are," she explained.

"Sensors are, however, unable to detect us," Nico chimed in.

Percy tilted his head to one side. "Sensors?"

"You know, those light fixtures that shut off automatically when they sense no activity. Automatic doors."

Thalia snickered. "Automatic soap dispensers."

He glared daggers at her. "That was one time."

"Let me just tell you, Percy, you'll never see anything as glorious as a 5000-year-old emissary of the night cussing out a soap dispenser." She sighed happily. "Ah, my favorite type of vampire: the shitty and inconvenienced one."

"I will _end_ you," Nico threatened, and Thalia only smiled sweetly, flipping him off.

Percy smiled to himself. He liked them, he decided, even if they were somewhat frightening and maybe on drugs and/or drugged him too. (He was still having a hard time coming to terms with reality).

"How are you guys even getting along? Don't all the stories say all of you guys hate each other or something?" Percy slid his fingers across the leather. He found that when he concentrated on the little things, it was exceptionally easier to block out the mixture of other senses.

Thalia offered a lazy smile. "Warlocks get along with most, except maybe the fey. Nobody likes those manipulative, cunning assholes."

Percy blinked blankly, and her smile spread.

"The Fair Folk," she explained, leaning forward, even though he could hear her _perfectly_ (he was never going to get over that). "Faeries. Little People. Whatever you want to call them. Long ago they were forced to tell the truth, and now they're just masters at twisting the truth. Nasty lot, really."

Nico clicked his tongue in distaste and agreement. "I hate dealing with them."

"You hate dealing with anyone," Thalia pointed out.

"That's true."

"Anyway," Thalia continued. "There are _some_ rivalries, but warlocks don't live in clans or anything. We only appoint heads, like myself, to have someone to sort out contracts and represent our own at council meetings."

"You have your own form of government." Percy was astonished.

"We do," Thalia confirmed. "But others just avoid each other."

Nico rolled his eyes at her vague words. "She means us. We don't hang with the werewolves, dirty bastards."

"There are werewolves?" Percy felt small. How could there have been such a great universe he had never seen as a human?

Nico's eyes zeroed in on him, and Percy knew the pheromones were working their charm again, even if he had grown more accustomed to them now. "It's like Thalia said, kid," Nico restated, drawing out his words long. His eyes lit up for a second, shifting to the dark red again, and, paired with his heavily accented voice (it came out most when he was serious, when it was intense), Percy felt a wave of unease wash over him. "Most of the stories are true."

…

Out of nowhere, a soft bell went off, a disgusting shrieking. Percy clamped his palms over his ears, and Nico winced, but Thalia was entirely unbothered. He blamed it on his sensitive hearing: great for eavesdropping, a pain for loud noises.

"That'll be the other vampires," said Nico, standing up.

"What?" Percy's eyes went wide. He had _barely_ registered the fact that Nico was a vamp, or that he _himself_ was a vampire. Meeting the rest of the clan all at once? He would probably piss himself.

"That's my cue," said Thalia, and she stood as well. "I'll be back next week," she said to Nico, her features pinching seriously, and Percy swallowed thickly. She would be back to discuss more about the vampire cult thing out there killing humans. "Adjust well, fledgling," Thalia bidded Percy goodbye, half-smiling. And to Nico, "let me know if you come across any more cases. You know how to reach me." The star pupils blazed again, still freaking out Percy, and then she was gone, vanishing in thin air.

"What the hell?" Percy sputtered. "How did she do that?"

"Magic," Nico replied, his voice dry, and usually people said that sarcastically, but this time Percy was pretty sure he was serious.

All of a sudden, _Under The Sea_ began blasting from somewhere on the loveseat. Percy looked at Nico. Nico looked at Percy.

Cursing, Percy unfroze, grimacing at the loud noise. It felt like his skull was being split open as he roughed up the loveseat. He plucked a cracked, black phone off the cushion, relief washing over him, and he dragged the phone icon up.

"Hello?" he breathed, guiltily, remorsefully after seeing the user ID. And the five missed calls.

"Percy, oh thank god! Where on earth have you been?"

Percy cringed. It was his mother.

"I'm at… Grover's," he lied, knowing he could always count on Grover to back him up. He was immediately surprised by the guilt that washed over him like a fucking tsunami, drowning him. He didn't lie to Sally Jackson. He _loved_ her. It had always been her and him against the entire world, just the two of them, and now he had a step-father, and a baby sister, and he loved them just as fiercely, and the sadness made a home inside his heart. When would he see his mom again? Never? She wasn't exactly restricted to staying out of the daylight like he was. His heart squeezed painfully.

"Why didn't you tell me? Percy, you had me so worried." Sally sighed, exasperated. "I thought you'd been kidnapped or killed."

Percy locked eyes with Nico, and he didn't know how he knew, but he knew Nico could hear the entire conversation. He quickly looked away, facing a wall and cupping the phone tighter to his ear. His mother wasn't far off from the truth.

"I know. I'm okay, Mom. I'm sorry."

She sighed again, something she seemed to do a lot these days, not that he didn't understand: he was a tiresome teenager, and his mother was a saint for putting up with all his stupidity all the time. "Well, when will you be home?"

Percy awkwardly looked around the room. "Um… Grover's pretty upset about something," he lied again, and it felt like another stab to the heart. (The irony wasn't lost on him). "I don't know how long I'll be."

"Is he alright?" Sally's voice was kind, understanding, compassionate, collected. The guilt weighed heavily on Percy's shoulders.

"I think he will be but not yet."

"Okay. You call me when you're coming home, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed, even if he was sure it wouldn't be anytime soon. Or in this century at all. The realization was vaguely depressing. "Love you."

"Love you," she conceded, and she hung up.

Percy tossed the phone onto the loveseat, his face falling into his hands as he tried to keep the wave of depression at bay, and he was grateful for Nico's silence.

…

Their footsteps were light as a feather, and they had no imprints in dust, Percy realized as he watched the clan climb the stairs from a window. To say he was terrified would be an understatement.

"Come on," Nico demanded. "It's nearly time for dinner."

"Dinner?" It was broad daylight, and the sun had just risen outside… oh. "Okay," Percy agreed.

He followed Nico down the stairs, and he felt a rush of adrenaline when they descended in the blink of an eye.

They walked into a tall room, a dining room fit for a royal. This place, Percy had realized, was set up like an abandoned mansion, and it was gothic and classy and beautiful. A crystal chandelier swung precariously over them, the glass rattling against each other. He heard the clinking of glasses and chatter before he saw them, and then he saw them all at once. The curtains were drawn closed, but the golden lights shone down on them, and if he didn't know better, he would've thought they were angels.

There were about fifteen or so of them, and they were all pale, sallow, and thin. He was surprised to see some were blonde. He had always thought they all mostly had dark features but no. They were stunning, and the scent of blood reached Percy's nostrils, making his stomach ache. His fangs unsheathed on their own, piercing his bottom lip, and Percy parted his lips to keep from cutting himself. A wild, primal urge to devour all the blood tempted him, but he looked to Nico who was eyeing him carefully, and he tried to control it.

"Everyone," said Nico, strolling forward casually. The vampires immediately stood in his presence, a display of respect Percy guessed, and he motioned for them to sit, and only then they did. "This is Percy."

Percy waved awkwardly, and Nico rolled his eyes.

"He's just a fledgling, so he might not know everything yet, but we'll all be accepting him as part of our family, and if I hear otherwise, you already know what your punishment is." The room was dead silent, and Percy didn't know what the punishment was, but he really, _really_ didn't want to.

Nico sat at the head of the table, a blonde beauty seated at his left, and a dark-haired man on his right. Percy warily sat next to the golden-haired girl. She smiled at him, her teeth wicked sharp, and he only felt fear for a fraction of a moment.

"Here," she said, pushing a glass to Percy.

It was filled to the brim with a thick red liquid, and Percy knew at once this was blood, and it smelled heavenly. Well… perhaps that was the wrong word.

He hesitantly took a sip, trying to get over the way his mind repulsed the idea of drinking it, but his stomach twisted in hunger. Energy filled him up at just the first sip, and it was _sweet._

"What is this?" he asked, turning to the girl. He wasn't surprised to see her already watching him drink with mild fascination.

"Type O," she said tartly. "A personal favorite of mine, and I thought you'd like it."

He blinked, trying to conceal his horror. "This is a _human's?_ "

She rolled her eyes. "What were you expecting? It's still not as fresh as straight from their skin, but it's good."

Percy gaped at her pathetically. "I thought Nico said you guys mostly drink animal blood."

"Well, yes," she said, her eyelashes catching the light. She was ethereal, and as much as Percy wanted to hate her, he just couldn't. "Animal blood is easier to store, and it stays much longer, but I thought you'd like some of the better stuff your first morning here."

"Oh." It was weird to be touched by someone saving blood for him, but he was nonetheless. "I'm Percy," he said stupidly, cringing almost afterward because _Nico had literally already said that._

"I know." She laughed, and it was magical. She sipped politely at her blood, tucking a stray tendril of gold hair out of her face. She had dark, almond-shaped eyes, and her skin was porcelain. She was, quite frankly, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his entire life.

He waited expectantly.

"Calypso," she finally said, and she smiled again at him.

A pretty name for a pretty vampire.

He smothered down a smile as he drank his blood, meeting the new vampires. Most were not very interested in him, at least not more than anyone else, but some asked him questions about his human life, when he was converted, how he's liking it here, etc, etc. Vampires, Percy found, were surprisingly friendly when they weren't trying to drain you of blood.

…

Percy paced around the upstairs room with the loveseat where Nico had first brought him. Nico was still dead set on pinning down who'd stolen some of Percy's blood and turned him into a vampire. Just talking about evil, cult vampires made Percy tense.

"He had _bronze_ eyes," said Percy, tapping various things in the room as Nico sat patiently in the seat, watching him walk around.

"Glowing?"

"Yes," Percy recalled, and Calypso wrote something down at Nico's side. Calypso, Percy later realized, was his second in command. She had gorgeous, old-fashioned, loopy cursive, making Percy wonder just how long she'd been a vampire.

There was a knock at the door, interrupting them.

"Come in," said Nico, low in his voice.

The door swung open, and four or five vampires were standing in the entryway. They neatly filed in.

"Silena," Nico acknowledged, peering curiously at the dark-haired, blue-eyed vision standing before the rest of the vampires.

"There's been another attack," she said. "Murdered, just like that."

Immediately, Nico was on his feet. "Where?"

"A couple blocks down from here, near where Percy was killed."

Nico cursed under his breath, and Calypso was high on alert. Everyone looked at him expectantly, awaiting his next directions. Percy felt like an outsider, not used to this hierarchy quite yet.

"Are we going down there?" asked Percy, moving to the curtains at the wailing of sirens.

"No," Nico snapped, tense. "It's dayl—Percy!"

Percy opened the curtains, not thinking. He was so used to having light in his room that he hadn't remembered light was fatal to vampires. The vampires screeched, hugging the walls like bats, the fat slice of daylight cutting across the center of the room like a shard of something sinful and unknown.

Calypso's eyes were wide with fear and… amazement.

Percy looked at her puzzled, and he surveyed the faces of all the vampires. Some were scowling, looking like they were about to tear him apart; some were deeply frightened; and some were _awed_. They gaped at him, their eyes wide. Percy slowly looked down, the light illuminating his body like a piece of glass. Sunlight killed vampires on the spot, turning them into ash—that was Nico had said. He had snapped, scaring Percy at the sudden noise, and said " _just like that"_ like a sadist.

But Percy was standing under the sun, the light streaming around him like heaven, and he was unscathed in the warmth.

Percy's gaze snapped up to meet Nico's. The head vampire's eyes were a brighter blood red than Percy had ever seen before in his entire life.

"Get me Solace," Nico demanded, and for a second nobody moved, gaping at Percy like he was an angel, some unfathomable miracle.

" _Ite!"_ Nico spat, the power behind his command causing the room to literally tremble; even Percy stumbled back. Nico's eyes were glued to Percy, and the vampires sprang into action, pouring through through the house like water, fluid and graceful and quick, hastily trying to reach hold of the mysterious 'Solace.'


	2. Chapter 2

Will Solace was a lanky blond with a blinding smile—Percy swore his teeth were brighter than his future—and the personality of a golden retriever. Percy would say he was the perkiest warlock he'd ever met in his entire life, except for the glaring fact that he'd only met two warlocks, including Will.

"Does he always move this much?" Will asked no one in particular, shining a light in Percy's eyes. He winced.

"Not sure," Nico said bitterly.

He had stopped freaking Percy out with the eye thing, but that didn't mean Percy wasn't _terrified._ Nico seemed like the kind of guy to conceal his anger and then just snap and murder you. Percy had no doubt that he was more than capable of homicide, anyways. It must've been a fluke, Percy figured. There was no way he could somehow tolerate sunlight. _But,_ he couldn't help but hope, _I could see my family again. My friends._ It had hardly been twenty-fours, and he already missed them so much that it physically hurt.

"He doesn't _look_ abnormal," Will declared, pulling away from Percy. Percy couldn't help but stare at Will's abdomen as he backed away; whereas Thalia had star shaped pupils as her Warlock mark, Will had no navel. (Percy really didn't ask or _look_ obviously, but Will was more than willing to share the information. But then Will winked at Nico, and Percy was like ninety-nine percent sure Nico could attest to the no belly button thing for multiple reasons).

Will carefully slid the curtains open just a crack. Nico had forced all the vampires out of the room, including Calypso, for their safety, and it was just the three of them.

The sunlight streamed across Percy's face and arms, and it felt completely normal just like when he was human.

"He's a Daylighter," Will confirmed, circling around Percy and inspecting every inch of his skin. That was another thing—Percy was almost entirely naked, save for his Nemo boxers, stripped down by Will's magic to help survey his skin better. There was no charring, no prickly feeling, no turning into ashes just like that.

"Daylighter?" Percy turned his head to look at Will, his brows furrowing at the unfamiliar term.

"Daylighter," Will repeated, as if saying the word again would make it clearer. "I like to consider myself the expert on all things sunlight, and Daylighters are the coolest thing in the universe."

Percy blinked. He wanted his shirt back over his head. He didn't feel very cool.

Will scrutinized him with interest. "A rare kind of vampire capable of walking in the sunlight. There hasn't been one in…"

"I've only met one my entire life," Nico murmured, "excluding Percy. She didn't know how she'd come to be one. When she came to after digging herself out of her grave and feeding, she could stand in the sunlight, and she never joined a clan at all."

"And I've never met one at all," said Will. "Until now, but I've studied up on them. Vampires by themselves are not impressive."

Nico glared at him.

"But a Daylighter? You carry the power of the world's sun in your veins. Sunlight and eternal life, that is a power indeed," Will contemplated. "The ability to expose themselves under the sun without burning, to heal grave wounds by pouring your own blood upon it, fascinating." His blue eyes were sharp on Percy.

Percy found himself squirming uncomfortably. "But how?"

Will chuckled to himself. "Well, that's the million dollar question, isn't it?"

"You don't know?" Percy's mouth felt dry. Great. Even in an undead, supernatural being, he was an anomaly, destined to stick out like a sore thumb.

"If we knew, we wouldn't be here, hidden away from the sun, would we?" Nico's frown deepened. "Downworlders would _kill_ for your ability. Hundreds have died, testing it, burning themselves alive trying."

"Are you saying vampires are going to come after me?" Percy thought he felt his heart beat faster until he remembered his heart didn't beat at all. Phantom feelings of humanity, he supposed.

"I'm not saying anything." Nico tilted his head to one side, and Percy felt as though Nico could see to the very depths of his soul. "I'm just saying people will do anything, say anything, _promise_ anything to get their hands on you, and that in itself is more dangerous than any amount of angelic blood. Hell knows my sister knew that."

"Your sister?" Will gaped. "I thought Bianca was mortal?"

"I had two sisters," Nico revealed. "Hazel, an adoptive one, she was turned into a vampire in her early twenties. I killed the son of a bitch who turned her, robbing her of normal life." His expression darkened.

"And she was a Daylighter?" Will could not stop staring, and Percy totally understood.

"What happened to her, your sister?" Percy found himself asking. Part of him didn't want to know, but part of him knew ignorance was a curse just as much as it was bliss.

Nico smiled humorlessly. "I was second in command of the New York clan at the time. She, however, refused to be part of a clan, afraid others' jealousy would be her demise. Ironic how that, in turn, ended her too."

"She died? How?" The word felt heavy in the air, lingering in the silence.

Will glanced at Nico too, curious.

"The head of my clan stabbed her in the heart."

Will's mouth fell open in horror.

Calypso had told Percy his first morning there that vampires earned rank by killing each other, just like werewolves, just like animals. She had said nothing about cold murder.

"Not that he lived very long after that." Nico smiled wickedly, his fangs tiny like regular, canine teeth that humans had, like he could disguise what he'd done, hide his true form. The sun's reflection in the dark casted a diluted, deflected light across his white hands. His rings sparkled, particularly the largest, silver and red wine one on his index finger.

The ruby winked up at Percy, crimson like blood.

…

After enough prodding and feeling like a test subject, unnerved in a room with a powerful murderer and knowing he would be one too someday, Percy had grown fed up with Will's poking.

He wandered the halls of the mansion, fascinated by the paintings on the walls. Percy would've never considered himself an art connoisseur. His idea of art were his friend Annabeth's sketches of buildings she usually refused to show Grover, Piper, Jason, and him. He didn't mind so much. It made the moments where she finally did share extra special. But these—these were absolutely spectacular.

He passed many: portraits of vampires, all heads of clans through the years, Percy could only assume; demons Percy didn't recognize, and some that he did from the stories and TV shows, though they were much scarier here; landscapes of rolling green fields and blue waters.

He froze before the last painting in that hallway. The top half was ethereal and beautiful. An angel bent from the sky, his hand outstretched, large, white wings sprouted from his back. His eyes were white without any pupils or irises, and his hair was gold. On the bottom half, a woman curled up to reach for his hand. Her skin was white, her lips dark purple, and she was dressed in a cloak, her delicate hands reaching up from the black darkness, mixing with the gold. There was a torch in her other hand, blazing brightly.

"Pretty, isn't it?"

Percy spun around to see Calypso poised against the doorframe. She eyed him, and he couldn't quite read the expression on her face.

"Who's it of?" he asked, peeking back up at the painting. He was acutely aware of her body inches away from his.

She pointed a skinny finger at the angel. "Raziel," she said, and she traced down to the woman. "And Hecate, Greater Demon and mother of witches."

"She created all the Downworlders?"

"No," Calypso corrected. "Just the vampires. Lilith made the warlocks. It's unknown how either faeries or werewolves came to be. Some say one of the demons who passed the lycanthropy disease onto humans was a mortal enemy of our mother Hecate which explains the bad blood. And as for faeries… no one knows."

"What do you mean?" His face was very close to Calypso's, making him flush slightly.

"They're the oldest Downworlder." She shrugged one shoulder. "They're even older than our peace treaties, and it'll always be up for speculation. Even if they abide by our laws, they have their own land, Faerieland, and they very much keep to themselves, so I suppose we'll never know."

"What do you believe?" Percy inquired politely.

"I believe what Nico believes, and he believes one of the oldest theories, the one that faeries are fallen angels, cast out of Heaven for their pride. That's also the warlock theory, though warlocks might just say that because the Fair Folk always look down upon them for performing magic for money."

"They sound strange," Percy noted, glancing back up to the painting and away from Calypso's mesmerizing caramel eyes.

Calypso laughed breathlessly. "Says the Daylighter. I guess you could say that. I just think they're a little shady. They're beautiful like the angels, and they're vicious and malevolent like the demons. I don't understand them." She glanced over her shoulder. "Here, look at this."

Percy turned down one of the corridors of the hallway, peeking at the painting before him. It took up nearly all the space on the wall. In the center, there stood the full body of the same woman from before: Hecate.

Dark locks of wavy, black hair fell down just below her hips, and she stood right in front of a platinum throne. She wore a red, Greek-style gown that went down to her bare feet, and at her left and right sat two black, vicious dogs. There was a spiky crown in her head and a half moon gold emblem attached to the front. In her right hand, she held a lamp-like thing with smoke coming out of it and laurel leaves, and in her left was the same blazing torch as in the painting with Raziel. A green snake wrapped around her torso, neck, and arms. Poking out of her left and right were translucent versions of her, both with hoods of their cloaks covering their hair. The one on the left held a dagger, shiny and wicked, and the one on the right clasped a key tightly in her hands. Her lips were dark and red, and her eyes were a piercing green.

"She's beautiful," said Percy, surprised. It was in that dark, brooding sort of way, but he had expected her to seem like a monster, complete with black wings, the angels' counterpart, and horns.

"I think you'll find that Great Demons are much different than mortals envision them," Calypso told him.

"Calypso!"

They both snapped their heads to see a vampire practically appear out of thin air in the doorway. She glanced at Percy, pausing in surprise.

"The Daylighter?" she sputtered.

"Silena," Calypso interrupted impatiently. "What's happened?"

"Oh, right. You'd better come quick. Another attack," Silena declared.

"Another?" Calypso cursed. "Come on, Percy."

"Me?" His eyes widened in surprise.

"You're part of our clan, are you not?" Silena's eyes narrowed at him, suspicious.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yes."

"Then hurry up," Silena demanded. "She's still _alive._ A warlock saw the flash of a vampire run past, and he scared the vampire off by intervening. He didn't get a good look at who tried to attack the mortal."

Calypso cursed again, spitting out colorful language left and right. "Alive? Nico's going to be pissed."

"I think he's already down there," Silena reported. "She's not been bitten."

"Which means she won't become a vampire." Calypso impossibly paled. "She can't know about the Downworld—it's a breach of contract. The rest of the Downworld will have our heads." With terrifying strength, she grabbed Percy's arm, and they ran out of the mansion.

The world, asleep in the night, whizzed past them in the blink of an eye as they ran at superhuman speed, their surroundings blurring into one. He could hear the people speaking in houses as he passed; he could see everything so clearly from hundreds and hundreds of feet away; he could feel nothing and everything all at once; it felt almost like flying, and for a moment, for the first time ever, Percy realized what it was like to be one of them.

…

"Is she passed out?" Calypso asked, ducking into the alleyway with Silena and Percy on either side of her.

"Thalia put her in a sleeping coma." Nico glanced up at them. Five or so vampires from the New York clan had arrived to see what all the fuss in the mansion was about, and Thalia stood by Nico's side. "But no bites. She should wake entirely mortal and unaffected, save for a couple bruises, but Thalia can fix that, and maybe a mild concussion. The vamp, whoever it was, knocked her pretty hard against the brick.

"What are we going to do with her?" Calypso asked.

"She can't find out," Nico muttered. "Thalia?"

"Wiping memories is difficult, risky work," said Thalia, scrutinizing the mortal girl.

Percy tried to get a good look at her, but there were too many vampires in the way.

"Besides, I don't know where we'd put her. She probably needs a moment to come out of shock once I drop the coma," Thalia continued.

Percy awkwardly pushed people outside, ignoring the dirty looks. The Daylighter label might've been a curse, but it was a blessing in some ways too. Nobody really wanted to mess with him, at least not here with Nico and Thalia.

The mortal girl couldn't have been older than seventeen. She had golden curls falling down her shoulders, over her plain grey t-shirt, one that was much too big for her. Her phone was facedown, cracked against the cement ground.

Percy's mouth fell open in terror. "Annabeth?" he hissed, and he dropped to his knees, feeling for her pulse. It was dull and slow, but it was there. She was ice cold and pale, so very pale.

"You know her?" Thalia raised a brow in surprise.

"Y-yeah," Percy stuttered, his hands shaky as he cradled her close to his chest, holding her limp body in his arms. "She's— _was_ ," he corrected painfully, "one of my friends back in school."

"So you know where it lives?" Nico narrowed his eyes at him.

"First of all, it's _her,_ not _it._ And… well, yes. I've been to her house a few times." Percy was barely listening, relishing only the sound of her heartbeat going. He could hear it like a drum, and there was a bead of sweat trailing down her forehead, glistening on her smooth skin. Her blood smelled sweet, not metallic like vampires, and he could hear it flowing through her veins if he concentrated. Her heart thumping was almost hypnotic, and the delicate flesh on the side of her neck was gold with her natural tan. He could see the pulse point at the base of her neck, rising and falling so miniscule no human could have noticed, but he did. He breathed in, addicted to the smell of her blood, and when his fangs slid out, Percy recoiled in self-loathing.

"Fuck," he spat, shoving Annabeth into Thalia's hands. Percy was sure it was just like Nico had said—human blood was harder to resist for fledglings—but he couldn't help but hate himself for even _thinking_ about biting her. Obviously, a vampire's bite didn't immediately transform them into vampires—they had to taste a vampire's blood—but it was still a sickening thought to entertain. He knew he wasn't the only one when he saw Silena's eyes glow a sharp blue, and she backed away from Annabeth as well.

Thalia actually cupped Annabeth delicately, far more gently than any vampire would. Warlocks, Percy had recently realized, were much more humane than some of the other Downworlders. They actually interacted with mortals, like Calypso had said, and, according to Thalia, some even dated mortals, though they were sterile and unable to become fertile, and they were unable to reveal their magical roots and Downworld ties. They were fond of humans in their own way.

"I hope you're not too attached to her," Nico noted.

"You can't kill her!" Percy's eyes widened. It felt like everything was collapsing within him.

Nico glared at him, and all the vampires fell silent, ducking their heads, looking away. He probably shouldn't have been speaking to the head of the clan like that, but… but Annabeth was his friend, one of his best friends, really. They were a squad: Jason, Piper, Grover, Annabeth, and him. And supernatural or not, human or not, he'd go down protecting his friends.

"We're not going to kill her, fledgling," Nico snapped. "You know _nothing_ of the peace treaties, _nothing_ of our world, and you'd do best not to speak unless spoken to."

Percy bit his lip to keep from saying anything and worsening the situation. He glanced to Thalia, desperate, but she shook her head, looking away from him.

"She might remember," Thalia mentioned, and Nico waited patiently for her to continue. "She might remember her attacker. She could help us figure out which group of Downworlders are behind these attacks."

"She could also remember _us_ ," Nico gritted out. "It goes against the treaties. Humans shouldn't know about us lest they're intended to become subjugates. It's like wielding a double-edge sword, and I refuse to throw my clan into those games."

Thalia nodded in agreement. "You're right. It's too risky. We'll wipe her memory, and maybe, with hell's grace, she'll recall the important things over time."

"If I may…" Percy began, glancing to Nico hesitantly. Nico's face changed only fractionally, allowing him to speak. "How much are we talking?"

"How much will she remember?" Thalia pondered aloud, and Percy nodded. "She'll remember coming out into the streets and then going home. Nothing more, nothing less if all goes as planned. But… maybe she'll remember as time goes. Nico told me you can stand in the sun?"

Percy felt all six or seven pairs of glowing eyes on him. He shrunk slightly. "Yeah?"

Thalia shared a look with Nico, communicating silently in a way that took hundreds of years to perfect. He couldn't understand, but they seemed to.

"Percy," Thalia began slowly, "just how much do you hate high school?"

…

"Imagine my surprise when Grover called, asking if you were here," Piper said in the doorway, kaleidoscope eyes wide.

Percy had laid Annabeth down on Piper's bed, acutely aware of Nico and the rest of them outside her window.

"Well?" The brunette crossed her arms over her chest, tapping her foot against the ground impatiently. She gestured vaguely to him.

Percy bit the inside of his cheek, a nervous wreck. "Well, what?"

"What's going on Percy? You weren't at school on Monday. You won't pick up the phone to Grover or Jason. You told your mom you're staying with Grover, but you're not. It might be my sleep-deprived imagination, but you look so much paler, and your eyes are like weirdly glassy. And now you've shown up at my house at," she paused and glanced at the clock, "two in the morning with an unconscious Annabeth."

He carded his fingers through his dark hair, a habit he'd long tried to kick and failed.

"Things are a little complicated right now," he admitted, even if it was the understatement of the year.

Piper's face softened fractionally. "Want to tell me about it?"

He hesitated, searching her face for the girl he'd grown up with, the people he'd known since middle school, and he knew that he couldn't bear for her to know he wasn't the same Percy she knew and loved. More so, he couldn't endanger her like that.

"Later," he promised.

"When?" she urged, and she stepped forward.

Percy hastily jerked away, and she narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. If she touched him and felt how cold he was, she would surely know something was wrong. If her fingers brushed across his chest and realized his heart wasn't beating, or that he was thinking about breathing to remember to look human, it would all be over.

"I don't know yet," he said, surprising them both by how cold his voice was. He was beginning to get antsy. Piper's blood was sweet too, and he knew Calypso hadn't been lying when she said fresh human blood was the best. Percy swallowed hard. "Trust me?" he whispered.

Piper bit her bottom lip. "Will you be back at school tomorrow?"

"Yes," he promised. He needed to keep an eye on Annabeth, needed to see if she could remember anything. "Call me when Annabeth wakes up?"

"What happened to her anyway?" Piper asked.

"She'll tell you," said Percy. His eyes flickered to her, the guilt weighing heavily on him. She would tell if she remembered anything at all, that was. He backed out of Piper's room.

"Where are you going?" She ran after him, padding softly in the carpet.

"I need to leave." Percy articulated each word very carefully. Nico was waiting for him.

"Why?" Piper pleaded, lost and confused and loyal.

His heart constricted. "I just do. Trust me," he repeated.

"I do." Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion and hurt.

"I'll see you tomorrow. And—I'm sorry," he whispered, opening her front door and stepping out into the dark.

"Percy?" Her voice sounded so small, the moonlight casting a glow on her face.

He glanced back at her one last time. "I'm sorry," he said again, and he ran off into the night. He blinked back tears, and when he reached up to brush a stray tear away he realized it was blood, not even regular water.

…

"What are you _doing_?" Percy hissed, freezing when he saw Nico inspecting Piper's rose bushes.

"My mother used to garden." Nico shrugged. That wasn't even Percy's top ten weird things that had happened to him in the past couple days.

"Fine," he sighed. "Where's Calypso?"

"Right here," she chirped. Her hands were wet and dark red.

Percy pinched the bridge of his nose. "I was gone _five_ minutes—"

"A squirrel kept testing me," said Calypso, and Nico smirked.

"Did Thalia leave?" Percy asked, choosing not to acknowledge Calypso's strangeness, maybe because he thought he was really losing his mind now.

"She's not going to be caught up in vamp business." Nico's eyes flickered to the dim street, lit only by a few streetlamps. "Now let's go. We're burning nighttime." He handed a silver knife to Percy.

He jerked his hand back. "I thought you said silver was toxic."

Nico rolled his eyes. "The hilt's wood. You'll be okay. Besides, we need it for where we're going."

Percy took it warily, not even bothering to ask questions. What was the point when Nico wouldn't answer?

…

Calypso slammed the girl's head into the concrete for the third time. Blood pooled at her hairline, and Percy winced at the violence. He supposed he'd have to get used to it, but that didn't make it any easier to watch. If he didn't know better, he would've thought Calypso was enjoying this.

"I'll ask you one last time," Nico drawled, narrowing his eyes at the seemingly human girl. She was tall and muscular, probably the most muscular girl Percy had ever seen before in his life, and she had stringy, brown hair and a permanent sneer. She had put up quite the fight as Calypso and Nico dragged her into the alleyway, but one gleam of the silver knives and she'd stopped immediately. She glared at them with her beady, brown eyes, her neck squeezed tightly in Calypso's death grip.

"Are you harboring any vampires?" Nico's eyes lit up red when she growled, and it sounded like a rabid animal. "Or what about your _friends_?"

"I haven't done anything, and I'm assuming they haven't either, punk," she spat.

Punk? Percy raised an eyebrow, looking to Nico expectantly.

"Fine," said Nico, and his voice was sweet like syrup— _too_ sweet. Percy tensed. "And I'll just assume you don't want to live and turn you to ash."

She paled. "I swear I don't know anything!"

"Knife, Percy." Nico held out a hand, not tearing his eyes away from the girl.

"Nico," Percy pleaded, the fear eating away at him. "She's just a girl."

"Just a girl?" Calypso's face twisted in disgust.

"Patience, Callie," Nico murmured. "He's never met one."

"One what?" He felt so lost. He turned the knife over in resignation.

"A little doggie," Nico said patronizingly, twirling the knife in between his fingers.

The girl's eyes flashed furiously. "Werewolf, you _son of_ —"

Nico slashed the knife so quickly across her arm Percy barely saw it. The girl howled in pain, and he could see the resemblance now: the primal anger in her eyes, the thick canine teeth. Blood spotted across her arm, the gash gushing red. Percy had never been more disgusted than the scent of her blood, and he was sure it was because he was created to hate werewolves.

"You know," Nico began, "I've heard that if you torture one of you pooches enough, you'll turn into a wolf." He chuckled to himself.

Calypso grinned, her pointy fangs peeking out over her ruby lips. "I'd like to test that theory."

"Do you need more incentive, or do you want to tell me the _truth_ , La Rue?" Nico demanded, pressing the tip of the blade against the base of her neck. She gasped in pain, writhing to get away from the silver, but Calypso kept her pinned, her vampire strength overpowering Clarisse's weakened and injured human state of lycanthropy.

"I'll never break. If you kill me, you go against the laws," she challenged.

"Do I _look_ like I fear the law, little girl?" Nico dared. "I'm almost as old as the _laws themselves_ , and the children of the Night have been around long before you and your housepets ever came into existence. You're just the product of a disease."

She flinched, and Calypso must've maimed her again because the blood around her neck was sizzling like an acidic reaction from the silver.

"Killing humans?" Nico tsked, clicking his tongue in faux distaste. "If you think the law won't punish you for that, you're delusional."

"You have no evidence werewolves are behind the attacks, and certainly not my pack. The alpha will have your head for this!"

Calypso scoffed. "She can try." Her eyes flickered to Nico. "Can I do the honors? The dog's useless."

Nico tossed the blade at her, and she swiftly caught it.

Percy didn't have the chance to look away before she stabbed the silver dagger through Clarisse's heart.

…

"Di Angelo."

Nico stepped over their third victim, only passed out this time, peeking into the night, his night vision sharp and clear.

Percy's skin prickled. Something told him to be on alert, and he was sure it was his instincts, but he just didn't understand _why_ —

"So the rumors are true then?" A woman stepped into the streetlight, and she had glossy black hair, a tan, regal face, and brown eyes so dark they could've been obsidian, the blackest of marbles. It was strange to hate her, but Percy felt his blood boil at the sight of her. Flanked at his sides were two wolves, and Percy watched as one morphed into a man before his very eyes. The other, still in wolf form, had fur like gold. Percy didn't even blink, despite the fact that he was very much naked after changing back to human. He had cocoa skin and warm brown eyes, and the girl tossed something at him, clothes probably. The other morphed to human too. He had black hair and fair skin, and he was the tallest of them all and probably the most muscular.

"Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano," Nico greeted boredly. "It's certainly been a while."

"Five years," she agreed coolly.

"You have a new beta?" Nico cocked an eyebrow, curious.

The Asian man on Reyna left stepped forward. "Frank Zhang," he introduced himself, his voice deep but kind.

Nico stared at him for a moment before looking back at Reyna. "Here's to hoping he'll last longer than your last one, isn't that right?" He grinned cheekily.

Reyna rolled her eyes. "May I remind you that you _killed_ my last one?"

"He was in vamp territory; he should've known better," Calypso cut in, coming to Nico's defense. She glared at Reyna, but Nico held up a hand, and she stopped obediently.

"The same delta though? I always thought he was weak." Nico pointed to the other man.

"Can I crush him?" the delta growled, and his muscles were as thick as Percy's neck.

"Peace, Beckendorf." Reyna was vaguely amused. She looked at Percy then, and he felt like a bug under inspection. "Is he the Daylighter?"

"Word sure travels fast," Percy muttered under his breath.

"He is," Nico agreed. "And that's part of the reason I'm here."

A muscle in Reyna's cheek twitched. "I know. I heard you were about the city, murdering wolves."

"I wouldn't say _murdering._ I'd say they didn't feel like cooperating, and I thought they'd speak better if they could kiss silver." Nico flicked out the dagger. "But I trust you're smart enough, alpha, to comply without _added_ motivation."

She glanced between the knife and Nico's face before leaning back comfortably. "What say you, di Angelo?"

Nico licked his lips. "A little bird told me there's a werewolf pack out there hiding away rogue vampires and using them for their benefit. You know you're supposed to turn in rogues to warlocks or clans."

"I do," Reyna conceded. "And I don't have a hidden vampire. Why would I want to keep your ghoulish, mosquito, ungodly kind in our sacred grounds?" she belittled. "Oh, wait, you can't even _say_ God, can you?"

Calypso's pheromones went wild at the jest, and she flared up, but Nico held up a hand in restriction, and she simmered down.

"Bold words for a bitch," said Nico cleverly, "and her gang of paw-licking mutts. Don't you have something better to do? A tail to chase? A stick to fetch?"

Frank glowered, growling softly.

"Aw," Nico cooed. "Good doggie. So loyal."

Reyna bristled at the insults. "What do you want me to do? Lie? I don't know who turned him." She pointed to Percy. "All I know is if you test me again, I'll tear your precious Daylighter to bits."

Calypso balled her fists at her sides, and a spike of fury ran through Percy's gut. He liked to think of himself as a pretty nice guy, but this girl just knew how to push his buttons. He would drain their stupid alpha dry before she even came close.

"I want knowledge," said Nico. "And even if your little mongrel brains are clouded with dreams of your next chew toy, I know you know more about this than you're letting on."

Reyna shifted her weight onto her left leg. "If I tell you, will you leave, no harm done?"

Nico smiled then, pleased _something_ was going his way. "Sure," he mused.

"I may have heard a rumor about a couple lone wolves on the upper east side," Reyna confessed. "Zhang?"

Frank curled up his fists at his sides. "Two humans died in the same area," he said. "They could be connected, but their blood wasn't drained like the Manhattan murders. That's all _you_ guys," he spat.

"Were there claw marks?" asked Nico, ignoring the goading. Nico, Percy realized, had incredible control of all his senses, both mental and physically.

"Right across the chests, but one… one had puncture wounds on the neck. Neither turned, dying instantly, and nobody raised them," Reyna reported.

Nico's eyes shined as he absorbed the information. "What did the council say?"

Beckendorf awkwardly looked at the ground. "They don't know yet."

A slow smile spread across Calypso's face. "So you breached the contract, _know_ about it, and there's no report?" She grinned gleefully, like a kid, turning to Nico. "Reyna could be locked up in silv—"

"—try it and you'll be tasting dirt again," Beckendorf threatened. Frank crossed his thick, roped muscles over his chest, frowning slightly.

"Callie," Nico warned half-heartedly, but it lacked all chastisement.

"Yes, sir," she whispered, wilting slightly.

"I'll look into it," Nico finally said, nodding slightly at Reyna in acknowledgement. "And in the meantime, keep your mutts off my property."

"The same goes for you and your leeches." Reyna grinned hollowly. They had a weird relationship in Percy's opinion. In some ways, they almost seemed like old friends, but then they'd threaten to rip each other's heads off, and Percy would be lost again.

Nico snorted. "My clan knows where their place is. It'd do you well to teach your kind the same." He turned to walk away, and Percy quickly followed him and Calypso, not wanting to be left behind with the lame werewolves.

"And Nico?" Reyna called after them.

Nico's ear twitched, the only sign he'd heard her at all.

"You'd better teach your Daylighter not to stare. It's rude, and, well, you never know who could take it the _wrong_ way," Reyna cautioned eerily, and Nico only scowled at the ground as they left them behind.

…

"A Daylighter?"

"Yes, my Queen."

She sat back on her throne, stunned. There hadn't been one in _millennia_ , and now, another one, a recently turned _human_ boy walked among the light as if he was a human himself. And he was blissfully oblivious. He didn't _know_ the power he wielded.

She smiled to herself, her white teeth peeking out from her pink lips. Well of course he wouldn't know. Nico di Angelo would never tell him. That would be foolish, especially for him, and he was much too careful to let it slip like that. No—Nico would surely keep it to himself. She had not seen him in so long, but she knew him well enough to know that.

"And where is he now?"

"Manhattan, my Queen."

She drummed her nails against the arm of the chair, the glass tapping softly, the rose vines soft and pliant to her touch.

"They're letting him wander free, or is he in the clan?"

"He identifies with the clan, my Queen, as far as we know, but yes, so far they have walked beside him, the children of Night, but now I suppose they'll let him walk by himself, what with the murders."

She smiled once more. "You're dismissed, Zoë," she said blandly, waving her hand lazily, and the dark-haired girl scurried off faithfully.

"So," she said aloud to no one in particular, finally alone.

The trees around her rustled like pieces of glass and glitter in the sky, an ethereal blue, mystical and enchanting like no another. Time flowed at a different rate here, sometimes slower, sometimes faster depending on how she felt. Seasons could change in the blink of an eye; mountains and caverns could appear minutes before where no such things were visible; and its rivers changed their courses at the whim of some unknown force.

The wise ones said never to enter for you would never leave, and then there were those who changed with the rivers and the mountains and the seasons, just as quickly and as slowly.

She stroked the white rose on the arm of her chair, and the vines curled around her finger affectionately, almost like a cat. She mused to herself, contemplating just how long he would last until he broke. They all did, after all, and he would turn to other means too to escape the hell his life had become.

"Perseus Jackson, the Daylighter. And he wanders free _for now_."


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm going to throw up."

"Not on me, you're not," said Thalia. She breathed in the fresh morning air like a hippie. "There's nothing like the sight of awkward adolescents, teenage cringe, and nihilistic assholes to start a good morning."

Percy stared at her. "Should I be concerned?"

"You should be more concerned about what you're going to do about your friends." She pointed at the front stairwell of Goode, and Percy cringed when he saw Jason's eyes widen in recognition. "Anyway, I'll be here after school's out. I want to check out the upper east side in the day, and Nico can't do that part, so you're coming with me."

"You're going to drive me home from school?" Percy raised a dark eyebrow. Thalia was like that one eccentric, single cousin who drank too much and taught you all the bad things, like how to hotwire a car and how to pass off fake IDs.

She snorted. "I don't drive, kid."

"Percy!" Jason jogged up next to his side. His forehead wrinkled in confusion, glancing to where Thalia was standing. "Why are you talking to yourself?"

Percy's eyes snapped to Thalia, and he _knew_ she had put some glamour on herself to conceal herself from the mortal eye. _Great_ , Percy bitterly thought. _Way to make me look crazier than I already do._

She waved, smiling sickeningly sweet at him, and in the blink of an eye she was gone, dissipating into thin air with a blast of black fog. She certainly had a flair for dramatic exits.

"I—wasn't," Percy finished, turning to face Jason with hesitance.

"What happened to you?" Jason walked by his side, naturally falling into step with him after years of friendship as they pushed past the heavy front doors of the school. Students chattered incessantly around them, their voices blurring together in one, overwhelming crowd of noise. It drove Percy wild. Worse was the scent of everyone's blood, mixing in the air. Some blood was too sweet, too sugary from candy or chocolates; some blood was too metallic from the hardcore meat-eaters; some was strong; some was tame; all were terrible for Percy.

He let out a heavy sigh. "A friend of mine was going through a rough time."

Jason narrowed his icy blue eyes at him in suspicion. "No, I know you told your mom you were staying with Grover. I mean what _really_ happened?"

"No, it's the truth," said Percy, lying blandly. "It wasn't Grover; it was a friend my mom doesn't really like."

"You mom likes everyone," Jason pointed out.

"I know." At least his backpack didn't feel so heavy with supernatural strength. "It was just… rough, okay? I don't really want to talk about it."

Jason took a hint and changed the topic, but Percy's mind was wandering. "—blood oaths."

"What?" Percy's head snapped up.

"That's what I was like!" Jason agreed fervently, even if Percy had no idea what was going on. "When I was in like fourth grade, I thought sleepovers were _wild_. I mean, video games for ten hours? Insanity. But then Piper was telling me about girl sleepovers, and holy crap. They eat fifty pounds of food, and take blood oaths, and host a fight club, and sacrifice the weakest member to the Goddess of the moon."

Percy blinked. He was pretty sure Reyna wouldn't take that the right way.

"Jesus, Percy, your backpack is light as a feather." Jason shook his head at him critically. "The English teacher's going to have your head; the essay's due today." He was an overachiever, just like Annabeth.

Percy rolled his eyes. Vampire or not, he wasn't about to start doing all his assignments like he was _superhuman_ or something. "None of my homework is done, but I sure as hell am."

Jason made a noise of protest and then laughed, an easygoing laugh that Percy had missed dearly.

"Percy, are you sure you're okay? You look a little pale. Lost." Jason's eyebrows furrowed with worry. "Speaking of, did you hear about what happened to Annabeth? I have no idea how she's coming to school today, but that's Annabeth for you, dedicated to calling out Mrs. Dodds every single day." He chuckled to himself as they lingered outside of Jason's first hour: calculus.

"No?" Percy tried. Nico had instructed him only to get information, not reveal anything of what he knew. Basically, play dumb.

"It was rough, man." Jason shook his head. The warning bell echoed above them, letting know they only had a few minutes to get to class. "I didn't even get the full story; Piper only said something about blacking out and memory loss. I guess she'll tell us at lunch?" He excused himself, slipping into class, and Percy resisted the urge to run to class, even if he knew he would make it there in two seconds flat.

…

Percy glanced at his friends' lunches wistfully. Cafeteria food was terrible, and so they all brought their own lunches, and he had never been more envious of simple white bread and a slab of deli meat sandwiched between both slices.

He discreetly sipped at his 'water' bottle that Calypso so kindly helped him fill with animal blood. It was staler than even bagged human blood, but it was enough to tide over his craving to sink his teeth into the people around him, so he would say it did the job well enough.

"Listen up, motherfuckers."

Grover jumped when Annabeth slammed her backpack onto the lunch table rather harshly.

"Is it finally storytime?" Jason visibly perked up. Piper threw a pretzel at him to shut him up.

"It is," the blonde agreed, and she gingerly took a seat. "You." She pointed straight at Percy, and he nearly choked on the blood. Except he couldn't choke. Because he didn't need air. He fake-coughed anyway.

"Me?" he rasped.

"Tell me what happened," Annabeth demanded, popping open a bag of Cheez-Its.

"Percy? What's he got to d-do with this?" Grover stuttered, gnawing anxiously at his salad.

"Didn't I tell you?" Piper cut in. "He's the one who saved her and brought her to my house."

Jason gaped at him, his jaw slackening, and Grover seemed awestruck. Percy squirmed under their piercing gazes.

"What _do_ you remember?" Percy queried, hoping he didn't sound too suspicious.

Annabeth frowned. "I remember walking back to my house, and then I was waking up at Piper's place, and all she could tell me was you brought me there."

They all looked at him expectantly. Percy gritted his teeth. It was best to stick as closely to the truth as possible and omit magical details in case Annabeth remembered things and realized he was lying. "I—um." He shrugged nonchalantly. "I was out buying milk for my mom." Seemed reasonable enough. He ran her errands all the time. "And I heard some screaming nearby, so I ducked into the nearby alley. I didn't get a good look at the guy, but I realized it was _you_ passed out in the alley. Piper's house was closest, and I just took you there."

Piper's mouth opened and closed like a fish. "You're a hero!" she exclaimed. Percy shrunk on the lunch bench. He nearly bit Annabeth; hero was the furthest title from what he was. A freak, maybe.

"Someone attacked you?" Jason squared his shoulders, suddenly all business. He analyzed Annabeth's face, almost like she'd grow bruises before his very eyes. She was, in actuality, in perfect condition thanks to Thalia. "Did you call the police? Are you hurt?"

Annabeth shook her head solemnly. "I don't even _remember_ it, Jason. How can I file a report for something I have no recollection of? I'm not hurt or anything, and there's not even a bruise on my head, so I have no idea how I passed out."

"Maybe he drugged you?" Piper suggested. "You know, like in those murder movies? What's it called?"

"Chloroform," Annabeth added helpfully.

"That's the bitch!" Piper slammed her palm against the table, and people glanced over, weirded out, but she didn't seem to notice or care. "Does it mess up your livers and kidney or something?"

Annabeth pinched the bridge of her nose. "You watch too many cop shows, Pipes. I don't think I was drugged. Or hit. I just don't know."

They were all silent, somber, thinking of all that could have happened to her.

"Well," Annabeth began, gratefully. Her steel grey eyes flickered to Percy's, shaken. It made his stomach twist, and he had the ungodly urge to rip whoever attacked her to shreds. Her hand stilled around the wadded-up plastic bag in her hand. "At least you were there, coincidence that it was. Thank you. I guess I'm indebted to you now."

"You're not." He twisted the cap on his bottle closed, not meeting her gaze. "And… it was no problem. Anytime." And he tried not to think about the weighty implication of his promise.

…

"Is _that_ your friend?" Jason pointed at Thalia, and Percy was grateful she had chosen to be visible this time. "The one in turmoil that you skipped school and gave your mother a heart attack for?" She smirked cheekily as they approached her.

Percy scowled. "No. She's just… a friend. Not that one, though."

Jason's eyes were wide as saucers. "Why've we never met her before?"

"She keeps to herself," said Percy before he could think about it. "And she's in college."

"Oh." Jason's eyebrows flew up in surprise. He smiled charmingly, his polite face already on. Percy rolled his eyes.

"Thalia," he greeted, nodding at the spiky-haired warlock.

Jason looked at Percy expectantly, and he sighed in resignation.

"This is Jason," he said dryly. "Jason, meet Thalia. Thalia, Jason. All caught up? Great, let's go." He moved forward to stand by Thalia's side, but Jason pulled him back by his backpack.

"Don't you have swim?" Jason stiffly looked up at Thalia, almost like he thought she was responsible for Percy's ditching. In all fairness, she did carry the attitude of a bad influence. "It's Wednesday." Thalia tapped her wrist impatiently.

"I quit the swim team," he blurted out, shaking off Jason's hold. He wondered if it would have been better to be a faerie. At least he wouldn't be saying stupid lies like this.

Jason looked at him in horror. "You're the captain!"

"Not anymore." Thalia snickered, and Percy shot her a warning glare.

"Your teammates were bugging me Tuesday, wondering where you are. When could you have possibly quit?"

"I text dumped them," Percy deadpanned. "I hate swimming. It's unsanitary; Annabeth's right, what with people's spit and all that. I need to see a therapist."

Thalia was full out laughing now, and Jason was vaguely disconcerted.

"Now I've got to go," Percy excused himself, grabbing Thalia's arm. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

Jason only watched them go, flabbergasted.

…

"He's adorable," said Thalia the moment they appeared in the upper east side of New York.

Percy's stomach turned over, queasy from teleportation. "Who?" He tried not to throw up.

"Jason. He reminds me of my brother."

"You used to have a brother?"

She hummed in agreement. "A long, long time ago. He was blond too. Tried to eat a tree once. Cute kid."

"Jason tried to eat a stapler. He even has a picture."

Thalia shrugged her small shoulders. "Must be a thing, eating dangerous things."

"So where are we headed?" Percy trailed after her.

"We're meeting the oldest warlock in all of history."

"How old?"

"Older than Nico. He could be Nico's great, great-grandfather."

Percy's eyes bugged out of his head. Even trying to imagine how long Nico had lived was enough to give him a headache. Attempting to conceptualize this person's lifespan was, in comparison, damn near impossible. "You know him? Personally?"

Thalia shot him a weird look. "Of course not, you dolt. Actually, he's very shy. He keeps to himself, but I managed to scrounge up his location after practically interrogating every warlock in New York."

"Does he know we're coming?"

Thalia snorted. "He's going to try and kick us out, and we won't let him."

"But why?" he sputtered.

"Isn't it obvious? He knows more than any other warlock out there. He's met every Daylighter currently known. Who knows, maybe he even met Abel and Cain and Lilith and Adam and Eve himself. Only God knows how old he is now."

"He can help me?"

Thalia pursed her lips. "I don't know how much he can help us figure out who turned you. He's probably really out of touch with the current clans, but I'm sure he knows how others were turned Daylighters. He can give us _something_." She sounded desperate for once. "And it's better than nothing."

…

"I don't want anything to do with warlock business. I don't know how you found me, but I suggest you get off my doorstep before I vanish for good."

Thalia glared at the door. "We both know I can teleport in there just as fast as you can teleport out!" She kicked the door. "Open up."

"Why? Why should I help you?"

"Because it's what you do!" she screamed, leaning against the door in exhaustion. "You try to protect the supernatural, and the world lets you down, and I'm sorry," she gasped. "I'm sorry you've watched so many die. I'm sorry everyone is so _fucked_ up now. I'm sorry."

Percy was horrified. He had never seen her fall apart like this before. "Thalia." He reached up to comfort her, but she slapped his hands away, distraught.

"Please," she begged through the heavy wood. "Please help us. You could prevent a war."

"I don't care," the man said through the door. His voice was gruff and old; it made Percy's chest ache.

"He's a Daylighter," said Thalia, dropping her final weapon, her nuclear bomb.

There was silence on the other end, and then the lock clicked open.

Thalia glanced at Percy in disbelief before she unfroze, hastily pushing the door open and stepping inside. Percy followed in suit.

It was a small apartment, decorated entirely with old books, wood, and paper. The sheer amount of paper was overwhelming, and it made the entire entryway smell musty the way old libraries did. The lack of technology was no surprise to Percy. There was no TV, no laptops, no tablets, no telephones—not even the ones attached to the walls. Something told Percy it wasn't for lack of understanding but for not wanting to be attached to the outside world.

A man stepped forward. There were a few silver strands intermixed with his naturally chocolate locks, and his face was gaunt with weary wrinkles at the corners of his kind, coffee eyes and straight mouth. Then, of course, there was the fact that his entire bottom half was that of a horse, and he looked just like a centaur straight of the myths. It was his warlock mark, not nearly as blissfully subtle as Thalia's or Will's.

He eyed Thalia suspiciously. "Are you the new high warlock?"

She smiled tiredly. "Yes, sir." It was the most polite Percy had ever seen her. "Thalia Grace, sir." She extended her hand to shake his, and he obliged, basic manners overriding his prior, loudly-voiced reluctance.

"A daughter of Mammon." He seemed vaguely impressed.

Percy froze. Mammon? One of the nine Princes of Hell, the Prince of Greed? He had known warlocks were the children of mortals and demons, but Nico had said they were generally lesser demons. His skin prickled in fear, fear of Thalia. He couldn't even begin to fathom how that would work. Did she ever meet up with her father and just casually ask him how he's doing, stealing souls and reigning in Hell?

She didn't look at him, only chewing her lip and glancing at the old warlock before them. "I didn't know you knew who I was."

A muscle in his cheek twitched. "I know a lot, Thalia Grace, and I suspect that's why you're here in the first place. I also know you probably thought I was a myth until you really did some digging."

The tops of her cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment.

"Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, I am very much real. Reclusive, perhaps, but real, and I have heard great things of you, my dear, though door kicking and threats were not any of them."

She ducked her head. "Sorry, sir."

"You don't have to call me that." He sighed, sitting back on his couch before gesturing for them to join him. Percy glanced at Thalia before taking the cushions across from the middle-aged man, his knee brushing against Thalia's in the close quarters.

"Yes, sir—I mean—yes, Chiron."

"Chiron?" Percy's mouth fell open. He had only heard of Chiron as in the Greek myths, the ones where he trained Hercules. He wasn't sure how much of that was true anymore, especially after all this stuff about vampires and other beings got mixed in. He didn't remember a version of Hercules where he beat the crap out of a little faerie like it was One Punch Man, but who knows?

Chiron leaned forward, his interest piqued. "You must be the one I've heard of then."

What did one even say to that? "All good things, I hope?" he joked. His expression faltered at the expression on Chiron's face: haunted, old, ominous. He looked at Percy like he was already planning his funeral, imagining what it would be like to slam the door of the casket in his face and nail it shut.

He hesitated. "There are no moral absolutes, Perseus Jackson; there are only artificial constructs of what it means to be good and bad. What's good for one person is evil to another."

Percy frowned. "That can't possibly be true." All the vampires and Thalia and Will and everyone else had told him was about how some were darker than others, how some hated one another, and how he needed to know his place.

He smiled humorlessly the way parents shared looks among themselves at the funny things kids said, only this expression was so much more chilling than that of a family reunion.

"I think you'll find," he said, "that it simply depends."

Thalia glanced at Percy who only shrugged slightly. She sat forward on the edge of the couch. "On what?"

Chiron's eyes were dark and morose. "On which perspective you choose to entertain."

…

Golden ichor dripped down the side of her face, sticky and wet. She could feel her power fading with time, trapped in the dark of a damp, unknown space, wasting away at her goodness. The basement was cold, devoid entirely of light and all things holy.

The pain around her chafed wrists had grown dull, and it dimmed her, but she wouldn't let it take her down quite yet.

"Oh, look who's finally awake," a raspy voice crooned, gracefully clambering down the dirty stairs, littered with stray nails and flecks of her own blood.

She didn't fight against the chains, unwilling to give him the show and satisfaction he wanted.

"When I leave here," she began, her voice measured, slow, calm, everything she didn't feel right then, but everything that had been ingrained in her since birth, "you'll be sorry," she promised.

He laughed incredulously, his voice like scraping metal against a chalkboard. She winced. "When you leave?"

She searched his eyes for some semblance of humanity, but there was none. Her blood boiled with white, hot, heavenly rage. "When," she vowed, small but strong. "And then you will have nothing left. You will be just as alone as you were before."

He blinked. "Alone? I think not."

She smiled bitterly. "Alone." She closed her eyes, searching for her last drop of strength, and she found none. "And no one, not even Heaven, will help you then."

He glared. "You lie."

Her lips twisted ruefully. "I don't judge liars, boy. It's not my job."

He surveyed her, and for a moment she saw the young boy he should've been, embracing life to the fullest, inspecting her for deceit that didn't exist, desperate for her to show him what it meant to love again. Her heart, strong and full, ached for him, but she was not the ruler of justice. She did not pass the judgement. She only had compassion for those who never learned to judge for themselves.

"Fuck Heaven," he spat. "I don't need them anyway. What have they ever done for me? I don't need their judgement."

Her eyes grew cold, wearing away at the sadness.

"You can't even escape my chains," he jeered cruelly. "Don't threaten me. What could you possibly do?"

"It's not me you should be worried about."

He faltered, and a surge of strength coursed through her veins, lighting her up a faint gold, the remains of who she once was.

"May Raziel _himself_ have mercy on your soul."

…

Percy stepped into the New York streets, climbing out of the subway stairwell, thoroughly shaken. Chiron had admitted he had no idea how Daylighters were created. There was no one formula, and he had done his best to explain the history of all the seven Daylighters he had known in his entire life. There was no one recipe to their creation, but there was one shared variable. Sunlight was not a demonic blessing. It did not belong to vampires, or to werewolves, or to the fey, or to warlocks.

It was the gift of the angels themselves, and no one had seen an angel as far as Chiron knew. Some even speculated angels were myths, but then that raised the question of how the fey came to be if they were not products of the angels in some fashion. Some thought angels didn't exist anymore, dormant once mortals began to disbelieve in higher power, and some thought the angels only stuck around to watch over the mortals, but dispute aside, one thing was for sure:

Someone had messed with Percy's blood, some way, somehow. They didn't know who. Or why. Only that there was no Daylighter without light.

Cain, the first ever vampire turned Daylighter, was said to have drank from Abel, the heavenly blood and the light was a curse, not a blessing, a reminder of all he had done to his brother as a result of Lilith's sweet manipulation and trickery.

It was a myth of course. And few knew of it. But Chiron did, and he suspected it had to do with the heavenly blood.

If Percy had suddenly, magically been given some sort of heavenly power, then that begged the question of Heaven itself. Was there an angel on the loose? Was it running rampant, killing, or was it blessing the Earth? Was it dead? Could angels even die?

Percy's head spun. He _needed_ Annabeth to remember. He needed her to remember who attacked her. Perhaps that was why he had actually agreed to join his friends for dinner Friday night. He was surprised they'd even invited him at all. He skipped school again Thursday, weighed down from hunting down stray werewolves in the upper east side with Nico and Calypso all of Wednesday night again, and he let his phone buzz in his pocket from the messages of his worried friends. He was being a shitty friend, and he knew it, but he was so stressed, and he wasn't the only one. Nico grew more and more frustrated with each open case stacked upon each other. There was a council meeting coming up, and the vampires and werewolves were surely going to be torn to bits by the rest of the council for the attacks.

Every victim was dishearteningly different: slashed chest, punctured neck, one even obliterated, half ash, half corpse. There seemed to be no connections between them at all, no one source of attack, and no clues. Percy had snapped at one point and destroyed the rest of one of the human corpses, tearing it apart, limb for limb, until Calypso practically wrestled him off. The skinny slice of hope that had once been had long left him lonely. Then he promised to visit his mother on the weekend over the phone, and he stopped destroying the human murder victims.

He pushed the door to Piper's apartment—already cracked open half an inch—open, and he jumped slightly when he saw his friends waiting for him patiently, their faces serious. He eyed them warily, hanging up his jacket (even if he didn't feel the cold anyway).

"Hello?" He frowned in confusion. "You guys didn't have to wait for me, you know." He gestured to the pizza spread evenly over the coffee table. Piper was perched precariously on the edge of the couch, Jason's arm around her keeping her from falling. Grover sat in an armrest all by himself, and Annabeth was coolly seated on the sofa across from Piper and Jason.

Piper frowned at him, gesturing to the seating diagonal to her. "Sit down, Percy." Her voice was thick with emotion, and Jason's eyes were veiled, his mouth twisted down ominously. The air hung around them, heavy and serious.

He inspected their grim faces and obediently sank into the cushions next to Annabeth, maintaining his distance. Piper reached out to take his hands in hers, and when he hastily jerked back, he _saw_ the hurt flash across her kaleidoscope eyes. It hurt like hell, an aptly named simile in his opinion. He was a big hugger. Piper was a big hugger. They were the two golden retrievers, coddling each other as Grover watched in anxiety, Jason in confusion, and Annabeth in sarcastic judgement and numerous eye rolls.

"Jason told us you quit the swim team," Piper began, seemingly the voice of them all.

Percy's eyes flashed angrily to Jason, but he was on the brink of tears, and Percy's anger dissipated just like that, all ideas of bro code and traitor flying away.

"Is this true?" Piper demanded softly. She squeezed Jason's hand under hers, seeking for comfort in her kind-of-boyfriend but not-really-boyfriend, and Percy knew everything was wrong all at once.

It was wrong that he couldn't see his friends without fearing turning them into food; it was wrong he could walk in the sunlight, that he was a valuable _object_ to be hunted by all the supernaturals; it was wrong Nico's sister died; it was wrong to fear an attack everywhere he went, knowing the world, both visible to the human eye and hidden under a thin layer of magic and mystery, was watching his every move, waiting for him to fuck up; it was wrong he hadn't seen his baby sister in nearly a week, and he was missing her firsts, her babbling incoherently with all her 'Pewcys' and small, fierce hugs; it was wrong his own mother probably thought he had joined a gang or something because she hadn't seen her only son in over five days; it was wrong he had to give up everything he'd once known for a life he never even asked for. He had never missed mortality more than he did now.

"Yes," he admitted quietly.

Piper gasped like it physically pained her. "But Percy, you love swimming!" she cried, and she was definitely crying now.

"P-Percy, you can t-tell us anything," Grover assured him, his earthy brown eyes kind and trusting. "You know that, r-right?"

He fought the lump in throat tooth and nail. "I know. You guys are the… the _best_ friends I could ever ask for." And he meant it.

Piper's eyes watered, a side effect of being overly sympathetic. But she was practically a sister, and it pained Percy more than any holy water ever could have.

Jason handed him a pamphlet with smiling teenagers on it. Percy squinted at it. "We didn't want to have to do this," he began, "but after some strange encounters we just want to protect you."

"That's right," Annabeth chimed in. "We just want what's best for you, Seaweed Brain."

Percy glanced at the letters on the page, trying to fight the way they rearranged themselves, floating up on the pages. _Seeking Drug Abuse Treatment: Know What To Ask._ Suddenly, he didn't feel so emotional any more.

"Discover the power of choice," he read aloud. He glanced up to see the supportive, small smiles on the faces of his friends. He stared at them, actually stared at them like they were stupid. Jason leaned forward to point to a few things with his pinky, taking Percy's silence for dyslexic struggle. Usually he would've appreciated it, but now Percy was simply at a loss for words.

He tapped an orange box with a girl holding up her hand in a stop motion. "You can do it," he read gently. "We live in a world where the potential to abuse powerful, legal narcotics constantly surrounds us. You are strong enough to overcome. There is hope, there is help, and a _sober_ future awaits anyone with the discipline and drive to grasp it." He nodded encouragingly at him, and Percy felt his right eye twitch. He couldn't take this anymore. "This is a safe place for teenagers in recovery with sober living facilitie—"

"—have you all lost it entirely?" Percy interrupted. Grover's mouth fell open in an 'o' like he hadn't expected Percy to sound totally normal, and _not_ like an opioid addict.

"Percy, we realize this is a difficult time," Piper began. "But let's not raise our voices. We just want to—"

"You tricked me!" He stood up, throwing the pamphlet to the ground. "This—this _intervention_ is not pizza for dinner! Are you all insane? Are you actually insane?" He tried to remind himself to go easy on them, that they didn't know, that they were confused and concerned, but the part of him that had been human was both hysterical with frustration and weariness.

"Percy." Annabeth tried to calm him down. "Acceptance is the first step."

"You're actually crazy." He backed away slowly. "You're all mental!"

Piper jumped to her feet, trying to calm him down, but he jerked away once more from her touch. "Percy, we just want to hel—"

"After Gabe?!" he seethed, betrayed. The situation was so pathetic it was almost funny; that seemed to be his entire life, actually. "I'm not addicted to fucking _drugs_! I would never!" He didn't even drink. He had thought they would know him better than that. "Don't touch me!" he snapped, holding his hands up to ward them off.

"Then why did your water bottle smell so weird?" Jason demanded, standing as well.

Percy paled further. At least Jason hadn't gotten a good enough whiff to recognize it as the stench of blood, not liquor. "Are you going through my stuff?" His jaw dropped, violated by their lack of trust.

"I thought you were hiding drugs!" Jason insisted.

"Oh my g—" He began cussing like a sailor, unable to even say the stupid fucking name of Heaven at all.

"Percy!" Annabeth was furious, covering Grover's ears. She glared at him with such hatred he could relate. He hated himself just as much, if not more. Grover had heard his fair share of Percy going off about the evil Mrs. Dodds and the whole school system, but Percy tried to refrain from cursing so much around their bean, soft friend. Grover's were wide, glassy with tears.

"And what about that girl?" Jason demanded. "The weird one with piercings."

Percy laughed incredulously, hollowly. He was going crazy, actually going crazy. "Thalia?" he hissed. "Thalia makes jokes about astronomy signs, and the only thing she's addicted to is coffee!" It was true. He had seen Thalia mock mortal magic every moment she got, entertained by fake psychics and tarot card readings. He did, however, conveniently leave out the part where Thalia poured whiskey and vodka into her coffee every chance she got.

"But—but…" Jason trailed off, his eyes wide with understanding when he realized Percy ws being dead serious.

"I can't believe you smelled my drink!" Percy had the inability to let it go. He was _this_ close to being exposed and Nico ripping him to shreds, maybe, probably, definitely. But perhaps, at this point, that was for the best. He laughed loosely, abandoning his last shred of sanity. He was very much aware of his friends staring at him as he actually broke down in front of them, laughing so hard his stomach hurt. The laughter began to shift to pain, his eyes pricking with the feeling that he was about to cry. He fought it; he couldn't afford to begin crying tears of blood now.

"We're sorry," said Jason softly. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I realize I violated your trust. We're just worried about you."

Percy shook his head. "I'm leaving." He grabbed his coat, but Piper beat him to the door.

"No, Percy, stay," she begged. "We're sorry; we really are." Her eyes were pink and puffy from crying. "Have some pizza."

He stared at the pizza. It was cold now and highly unappetizing, even if he had been able to eat. "No, thanks. I'm not hungry."

"Don't go," she pleaded, beginning to cry again. "Don't walk out the door and disappear for days together."

"Then don't guilt trip me," he said quietly, and he shoved past her, opening the door just wide enough and slipping back out into the dark. It was raining heavily like in the movies. Perfect, just perfect. Five minutes later, he heard footsteps padding softly behind him. He stopped finally, sighing in resignation. "I can hear you, you know." He spun around, and Annabeth peeked out from behind a nearby tree.

"Damn it."

"Indeed," he said mirthlessly. He crossed his arms over his chest. "What are you doing here?"

"Following you. I thought that much was obvious."

He rolled his eyes. "I know, Wise Girl. But why?"

"Because." She scowled, glaring up at him. "Drug addict or not, you're lying about something else."

He tensed. "No, I'm not," he said as nonchalantly as possible.

She tilted her chin up stubbornly. "Yes, you are. You said you were grocery shopping that night."

His scalp prickled in fear. "I was."

"No." She laughed hollowly. "You never get milk from the street where you said you found me. You like this special brand that you know is your mom's favorite, and that's only sold in one place in Manhattan, and it's not where you said you were."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you're a lying bastard, and I don't know why you'd lie about goddamn milk, and I don't know why you'd lie to _me_ ," she voiced, and she sounded so hurt, so conflicted, so tortured, and it broke his no longer beating heart. "I thought we were friends."

"We are," he promised. Her mascara was smudged slightly, her face delicate and wet in the rain. "And it's _because_ I'm your friend that I'm telling you to go home. To Piper's. To your place. It doesn't matter. Hell, I'll even walk you there, but you're shaking like a leaf."

She tried with no avail to still herself. He stared at her pointedly, and she only pursed her lips, too prideful to admit that he was right.

"Percy, what really happened that night?" she asked, her voice so soft, and it was nearly his undoing. He nearly caved and told her everything, but he straightened his back and set his jaw.

"I don't know anything; I already told you."

Her face fell in disappointment if only for a moment, but then her eyes hardened into two knives, stabbing him, making him fall apart. "Fine," she snapped. She turned and brusquely marched away from him, but it wasn't as strong as she had clearly intended. She was still quivering in the cold rain, and her jacket was thin and sopping. Percy glanced off in the direction of where the vampire mansion would be, and he didn't even hesitate, jogging (read: practically walking for him) after her.

"Don't follow me," she snapped. "If you're going to be an ass, just go."

The corner of his mouth curved up in amusement. "Ass?" He was pretty much three.

She glared at the ground. "Don't."

"Okay," he agreed, shrugging off his jacket and handing it to her. She could make her own decision if she wanted to wear it, and he locked his eyes with her steely grey ones, large, and wide, and intelligent. Her finger brushed across his, sending a jolt of electricity down his spine, and he sucked in a sharp breath to keep from saying anything stupid. Reluctantly, Annabeth hugged the jacket around her, and he walked her back to her house, not just because of the attacks, or muggers (how he'd pity the person who tried to rob Annabeth Chase), or the dark, but because that's just the type of guy he was.


	4. Chapter 4

"Percy?" Calypso was sipping on blood like it was brunch. Of course, her brunch was at three in the morning since their meals began as soon as the sun went down, and they woke up. She passed him a cup, and he sipped it like one would nurse a bottle of beer. His clothes were still uncomfortably wet, but he didn't really care at this point.

The blood was the type that evoked legend and fascination with it's brilliant garnet red and flashes of amber. It was both pleasing and intense with violet and oregano aromatic notes, smooth in the mouth with crisp acidity. Its well-integrated mitochondria gave good length on the palate, and it was the type to exude glory, nobility, and power.

"B?" he guessed. Calypso tended to prefer fruity, delicate flavors of a chilled O, especially with dessert or as an aperitif, or sometimes she nourished on full-body, earthy smoothness of A right before or after dinner.

She hummed in agreement. "I wanted to mix it up a little." She glanced up at him. "Rough day?"

He smiled humorlessly, the image of Annabeth slamming her front door in his face haunting him. "Something like that." He glanced around the empty dining room. "Where's Nico?" he finally asked, prepared to report another day of absolutely no change or new information, save for his talk with Chiron, though he suspected Thalia had already told the head vampire all about it.

She shrugged. "Hell if I know."

His eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "I thought you're his right hand vamp."

"That doesn't mean I know where he is." She rolled her eyes. "He left as soon as the sun went down, and he hasn't been back since. You'd have better luck asking his boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?"

"Mr. Sunny D himself." Calypso smirked at her own joke, and Percy covered his face slightly in embarrassment. It wasn't like he could blush anymore, but that didn't keep old habits from still forcing him to act the way he usually did.

"The warlock?" Percy guessed. "The one obsessed with sunlight?"

Calypso laughed. "Yes. Will Solace. Anyway, the point is, I don't know where Nico is."

As much as Percy feared the guy, he also felt a strong sense of protection for Nico. It was part of being a clan, he supposed, the bond and pack mentality. Well—not _pack._ They weren't heathens, absolute barbarians like those werewolves.

Sipping from her cup elegantly, she said reassuringly, "He'll be okay, Percy. Everyone kind of knows to steer clear." She smiled sardonically, and he relaxed at her words. "Want to tell me about your day?"

He let out a sharp, empty laugh. "What's there to say except everyone I know is crazy?" he burst, letting the blood go down his throat again to calm himself. His fangs no longer got in the way; he had learned to control it, just like he was slowly learning to control his bloodlust.

"My theory's that everyone's just a little crazy." She grinned with her teeth, and they were clean of blood. Somehow she fed without spilling a drop or tainting her teeth, a skill Percy had yet to master. He licked his teeth with the flat of his tongue at the silent reminder, careful not to cut it on his fangs. "How else would we be mostly sane after all this time?"

"Fair enough." He refilled his glass, hungry for quality blood after drinking lukewarm animal blood all day. "My friends think I'm addicted to drugs. They even showed me a brochure and everything."

There was a beat of silence, and then Calypso threw her head back and laughed, her eyes crinkled at the corners in genuine amusement. Percy fought a smile, but hers was just too contagious. "Well," she said, still beaming to herself, "they're not entirely wrong. Blood is one hell of a drug."

"Cheers to that," Percy muttered, and they clinked glasses, the crystal shimmering under the dim lights. "Do you ever miss it?" he found himself asking, unable to even be mortified by how awful of a question it was. It was like asking a blind man if he missed vision. Calypso was unperturbed.

"No," she said coolly, "precisely for the reason you said yourself."

He frowned slightly in confusion. "Everyone's crazy?"

"Mhm." She pulled away from her rim. "Everyone's crazy because mortals _care_ , Percy. We forget what it's like to care after spending years like this. You'll see."

Shivers tingled down his spine. He didn't want to see.

"And it only hurts all the worse to see your family and friends every day and realize they'll never understand you. In a way, I'm grateful I'm not like you, strange as it may sound." She looked at him sympathetically, her brown eyes kind and clouded with pity. "It would hurt so much worse if, when I had first been transformed, I had been able and tempted to spend all my time with my friends. Instead, I was raised here." She shrugged. "The clan are my family and friends now."

He bit his bottom lip, retracting his fangs as he finished his drink. "Thank you," he breathed, relieved. His eyes fluttered shut, and he slumped forward onto his elbows in defeat and relief. He had thought he was awful for never wanting to see anybody he knew from his mortal life again, and knowing he wasn't alone, that he wasn't the only one to feel this admittedly appalling way, was solace in itself.

"Finished?" She gestured to the coolers full of blood, and he nodded, sated.

She picked up the glasses, stacking them at the end of the table, and Percy didn't bother to think how they got washed, or how any of that worked, mentally fatigued. "Sometimes we all need a good vent," she reminded him, dabbing a napkin at her lips even if she was spotless. Flawless. He felt that same tug he had when he first saw her, captivated by fair eyelashes and pearly hair.

Whereas Nico's pheromones were usually stronger, the in-your-face type of fear-inducing spell, Calypso's was softer, the lithe stalking of a predator ready to pounce. It made Percy feel like he was on cloud nine if he allowed her pheromones to sink its teeth into his senses, assaulting the way he saw the world. It made him feel like he was walking through the field of poppies in the Wizard of Oz, about to be dragged down into the intoxicating scent of flowers, the drugs overtaking him. _She_ was intoxicating. He remembered he had once felt that way about Annabeth, back when they were twelve, and younger, and stupid. Then they hit high school, and she dated some guy for three months, and he got over himself, stepping aside to support her as any good friend would do, not allowing a trace of his jealousy to taunt her. He'd felt that nagging sensation again earlier when he was walking her home. He'd wanted to hold her, keep her out of the heavy fall of the rain. He'd wanted to erase the disappointment and anger at _him_ in her face. He'd wanted to brush his lips against the 'v' in between her dark blonde eyebrows when she was angry, her expression scrunched up at his 'lying bastard' ways.

But—she was confusing. And painful. And mortal. And he was a _monster._ She was cold then hot, just like the stupid Katy Perry song (though he had no idea why he was thinking of that of all moments). Even when Percy was mortal, sometimes she'd just snap at him, and then sometimes she listened, gentle, understanding, compassionate. He didn't understand her.

Calypso, on the other hand, was very much straightforward. She was witty too, though perhaps in a much more subtle way than Annabeth. She was intelligent; she knew all her mythology. She was clear on her stances: she didn't like werewolves; she respected Nico; she was a blood connoisseur; she wasn't envious of power, not like how everyone else wanted to have the Daylighter powers—she only wanted her own life, content with what she had, and what she had made for herself. She was kind and strong—Percy had both simultaneously turned on and terrified of all she was capable of—and she was inherently loyal, both to her clan, to her race of vampires in general, to Nico, to their allies—the warlocks, to all she stood for. She wasn't up and then down. She was mysterious only in her elegance, leaving him speculating how she was so classy, so eloquent, so sophisticated. She was not mysterious in matters of the heart. And if he was a monster, then so was she, equally damned as he was, equitably consigned to a lifetime shrouded in secrecy.

"You have beautiful eyes," said Calypso, interrupting his reverie. "I've wanted to tell you so since I first saw you."

Percy softened at her words, touched. "Thank you," he permitted. The only person who had ever told him he was beautiful was his mother, and that didn't count because mothers were required to think you beautiful. Mostly.

"They're like an ocean in the daylight—I… I haven't seen it in so long. Only in photographs." She curiously gazed into his eyes, studying him, not like how others studied him like an experiment, a bug, but like something she was passionate about. She surveyed him like one would admire a lover, not a piece of art, or any sort of object at all.

She smelled like cinnamon and sweet blood, a heady mix. Percy wasn't quite sure who initiated it, only that moments later, his lips were on hers. She tasted faintly of the blood, and his eyes fluttered shut, allowing her to whisk him away to no man's land. She was just as sweet as he caught himself thinking about from time to time.

For a split second, he was frightened, not of her or her abilities, but because Calypso had lived far longer than he had, and she was much more experienced than he was. He had only kissed one girl in his entire life, and it had been an accident (a story Jason had laughed at far too many times). This was much different. It wasn't sloppy or messy the way young adolescents kissed when they were drunk or simply inept; it was lavish, luxurious, tentative. She was gentle with him, probably because she knew he was still learning, but he didn't want gentle, not now.

Not after his world crashed down on him like it just had.

He kissed back fervently, hoping to feel like he hadn't in so long: loved, understood, whole again. Not a liar. Not a monster. Only one heart not beating alongside another's.

She gauged his moods like an expert, intensifying her passion with his every signal of wanting more. _More, more, more._ He needed more. He didn't need his friends and their pamphlets. He didn't need a reminder of his parents. He didn't want to talk about drugs. He realized he could just forget. He could just _choose_ not to think about it, and it wouldn't hurt. So he did so. He didn't think about them at all.

He let Calypso push him into her room, the nearly empty mansion making his heart metaphorically race. He let her push him onto her bed. He reciprocated, eagerly, greedily, taking all she gave him, still hungry for more. He took all her passion selfishly, and she kissed him just as impatiently, claiming him as her own, and he did not once protest, not even when she paused, asking 'are you sure,' 'are you okay,' and 'you don't have to do anything you don't want to.'

He had never been more sure of anything in his life, and when she enveloped him in her warmth, her fingers in his hair, her lips against his, her waist under the curve of his hands, he finally understood what it meant to feel unbreakable. Indestructible. Powerful. Immortal. He understood what it meant to have strength so many mortals, sickened, weak, cowardly, wished for. He understood what it was like to be eternal, and he burned along with her.

…

_The gold liquid was so crystal clear and pale that one would have mistaken it for white. It ran like a river, trickling down her wrists and neck where the unnamed boy with the covered eye and dark hair maimed her. Her screams echoed across the chasm of emptiness and darkness like those of a tortured saint, haunting. They whistled like the wind, a shrill sound of human suffering—only this was not the agony of a human._

_When the pain got to be too much, swirling and overtaking all her senses, leaving nothing behind but the sickness of humankind and cruelty of the zealot, her irises shifted into something else. Ghostly. Heavenly. Something much older than what she seemed. White like a dove struck by lightning._

_Her gasps held the power of the wind, of fire, of the sea, of the Earth trembling beneath them. She promised the doom of mankind and the beginning of something anew, something delicate, something beautiful._

_Her hair was red as dawn._

Percy woke in a cold sweat, crawling out of the bunks suspended high in the ceiling. He ghosted past the other vampires, silent like a mouse.

"Calypso," he called quietly, knowing she would hear. He knocked on the outside of her door. The sun was just beginning to go down outside; they would all be awake soon enough, and he tried not to feel too guilty for waking her. When she didn't answer, he gently, cautiously pushed the door open.

There was a bat hanging from the ceiling, and then there wasn't. The bat slowly morphed into a human, the wings changing to lean arms, the ears shrinking back down into delicate cartilage. He stumbled back in surprise.

"Calypso?" he hissed, his eyes wide. "You can turn into a bat?"

Her hair somehow laid flat over her back, untangled perfectly, and she blinked the exhaustion out of her face. She waved her hand dismissively. "We can do all sorts of things. Bats. Mice. Dust."

" _Dust?"_

"Percy," she interrupted impatiently. "Do you have a reason for disrupting sleep this early in the night?" She ushered him further inside her room, and he nervously paced before her bed as she gingerly took a seat on the cushions.

"Are dreams true?" he said finally, unable to clearly voice his feelings.

Her face scrunched up in confusion. "Not usually. Why?"

Something told him whoever that girl was, haunting him with nightmares, had sent him the dream. It was an odd feeling, and he didn't know how he knew, but he did. It was innate understanding. Her cry for help.

"Can angels send dreams?" he whispered.

She eyed him warily. "What happened, Percy?"

He reluctantly let her pull him to the bed to sit, and he began to explain, telling her tall tales of a redhead and a eyepatched boy who was much too trigger-happy. He licked his lips when he was finished, unsure, and he squeezed her hands between his.

Her expression twisted in confliction. "I… can't help you," she admitted. "I don't know much about angels. No one does." Her mouth set in a grim line. "You think someone's _captured_ an angel, and they're sending you dreams for you to save them?"

He nodded obediently, aware he sounded crazy, but she seemed to believe him. It was a weight off his chest.

Calypso twirled a strand of her honey hair, losing herself in deep thought. "I don't know about angels, and I don't know about dreams, but I know about blood."

"What about it?" He found himself leaning in to catch her every soft spoken word.

"Blood is like people."

"What?"

"It connects people together like a bond might. It's why blood oaths are so dangerous."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "So it has a memory of sorts?"

Calypso nodded slowly. "Sure. It's a supernatural force even we don't understand, but I know it brings people together, and it's something you should always be careful about. Maybe her blood connects with yours somehow. If that helps any."

Percy smiled tentatively. It didn't ease his stress, but she was doing the best she could. "Thank you," he said softly, and he leaned in to kiss her once more, addicted to her touch, her taste, her feel, but his phone buzzed in his pocket, interrupting them both.

Calypso peered at it curiously. "Who is it?"

Percy stared down at the picture of a smiling blonde quizzically. He hesitantly picked it up, cupping his phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Percy." Annabeth's voice was no nonsense. "He had brown eyes."

He stood up so quick he nearly fell, and Calypso reached out to steady him.

"There was something _weird_ about him. He didn't even have a blade or anything, yet somehow he was intimidating."

"Where are you?"

Annabeth laughed breathlessly. "I have no idea." She paused for a moment. "Something just told me to walk outside, this weird urge of _more._ More of what, I have no idea. You probably think I sound crazy."

 _The first seeds of a blood addiction,_ Percy realized with a jolt. Calypso had said vampire blood was dangerous, highly addictive, and she was wandering back to where she had been attacked, then she must've had a taste of it without knowing.

"Annabeth," he began, his voice shaky. "Did you bite the attacker that night?"

Her breathing was shallow over the line. "I think so. I think his hand covered my mouth to keep me from screaming, and I bit down." Her voice wobbled. "I can't remember."

Percy cursed under his breath. "Hold on—I'm coming. Send me your location."

"Why?" she bit out. "I only called you because you kept helicopter hovering over me, and I wanted to tell you before I forgot. I'm perfectly fine."

"You're lost," he pointed out.

"I have my phone," she quipped in return, stubborn as ever. "Google Maps."

"Fine. I just want to talk."

"We are."

"Please."

She hesitated, weak for his begging. "Fine, but you have to promise to explain. You need to tell me why you want me to remember so bad—I know it's not because you're trying to file a report to the police."

"Fine, whatever."

"You need to tell me why I found blood in your water bottle."

He froze, thinking he'd heard her wrong. "What?"

"I found blood in your bottle. Jason only smelled it, and at first I had thought it was wine, but then I realized. I didn't say anything—I figured you wanted it to be a secret—but I want to know why. Are you in a cult?" She was headstrong as always.

He clenched his fist, distraught. "I'll be there in a moment." And he hung up.

Calypso stood as he reached for the door handle. "Where are you going?"

"She remembers," he breathed, his eyes wide with equal parts anticipation and fear.

Something in Calypso's eyes clicked. "The mortal?"

"Annabeth," he agreed, and before she could say anything else, he was running so fast he was practically floating straight out the mansion's front door and to the flickering location on his phone.

…

"Annabeth!" He controlled his urge to run, jogging at the pace of a human as he approached her.

She whipped her head around to look at her, her grey eyes large and distrustful. She was standing on the sidewalk outside the alley where she had been attacked, either stupidly brave or simply foolish to be so alone—Percy had yet to decide which.

"Why would you come here _alone_? It's like you're trying to die," he snapped, unable to restrain himself. He scoured their surroundings carefully, taking them in one sweep like his instincts taught him to do.

"You're not my dad," she grounded out, and he shut up. "Did you drug me?"

"Why would I drug you?"

"I don't know!" She threw up her hands in frustration. "It's like I can feel something in me longing for _more_ , just like an addict might."

"You said he had brown eyes," said Percy, completely ignoring her allegations.

"Eye," she corrected. At his look of complete and utter confusion, she continued, "He wore an eyepatch."

Immediately, Percy felt like he was on fire. _The boy in my dream. So it_ was _real._

"And his eyes had glowed, I remember." She wrinkled her forehead in deep focus. "It's hard to remember… it's like someone put a block in my head from my memories." If only she knew how true that was. "But I remember that."

"Do you remember what he tasted like when you bit him?"

She eyed him oddly. "It's not like it was particularly memorable; I was fighting for my life."

"Annabeth," he begged.

She frowned, thinking once more. "It was weirdly… metallic. Not like how my own blood tastes, but a stronger sense of biting straight into iron or something."

 _Vampires._ Percy fumbled with his phone.

"Now are you going to explain, or do I have to smack you?" She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Hold on." The phone pressed against his ear rang. Moments later, there was a voicemail message. Percy tried it again, but Nico wouldn't pick up. He resisted the urge to smash his phone into the ground.

"Who are you calling?"

"Nico."

"Your cult leader?"

He glared at her. "For the _last_ time, I'm not in a cult, I'm—"

There was a crash in the garbage can nearby. "I hate raccoons," said Annabeth, backing away. Percy's senses were going wild. This was no raccoon.

He paled. "We need to get out of here—"

"Not so fast, Daylighter." Her eyes were sunken in and black as night, her hair grey.

Annabeth stared in horror. Percy knew with certainty this was another vampire. A rogue, perhaps?

"Rogue?" she spat, and Percy realized he had said it out loud. "I was old before the head vampires were born, you ignorant boy. I was old when Hecate first woke from her slumber. Misery is _eternal._ Existence is misery. I was born of the eldest ones—of Hecate herself."

"Look lady," Annabeth began, summoning her courage, and Percy wanted to drag her back and hide her within himself so she couldn't be hurt by this batshit crazy vamp. "I don't know what sort of Socrates you've gotten high off, but we'll just be leaving." She grabbed Percy's hand, and then she hastily pulled away. "You're ice cold!"

He couldn't even find it within himself to be frightened by her discovery.

"How did you get it?" the old woman rasped. "Tell me, _boy._ How did you harness the blessings of the angels?" She reached out to grab him, her nails black and clawed.

"I don't… I don't know," he said hesitantly, terrified, not for himself but for Annabeth. He shielded the blonde with his body out of habit.

"You lie! You keep the secrets to yourself, and you watch us suffer!"

"I didn't—"

She attacked, and for a woman who looked like she was at least one hundred, she moved _fast._ Her talons slashed across Percy's chest before he could register it. He stumbled back, his shirt torn, ruby red blood dripping down his chest, fiery like Hell must've felt.

"Percy!" Annabeth's voice screamed from the distance. He could _not_ pass out. She needed him. She ran to him, her hands reaching up to stem his blood, but he shoved her hands away. One drop of his blood, and she'd feel the addiction again. Surely, she was feeling it now. Her pupils were dilated at the scent of his blood, tempting her, telling her she _needed_ more.

"Perhaps you'll explain if I go after your precious doll," the woman crooned, her teeth sharp. It was at that moment that Percy saw only red, his fangs unsheathing on habit.

"Percy, your eyes are glowi—"

The vampire swiped her nails across Annabeth forearm, drawing blood.

A shriek tore itself out of Annabeth's throat. She staggered backward, tripped, and fell, just as the vampire lunged at her. She rolled to the side, and it missed her by inches, sliding along the concrete ground, its claws gouging deep grooves. A low growl bubbled from its throat—like it was possessed or something.

Percy snapped out of his stupor, and his fist collided with the side of the vampire. She cracked into the brick wall, tossed like a ragdoll from his sheer strength, her head oozing dark, sickly blood. It was black.

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy _shit._ " Annabeth was white, gaping at Percy in amazement, but he could barely notice her, his vision trained solely on the beast before him. _No one_ touched his friends.

The vampire snarled in disgust, lurching for him next. Percy ran down the alleyway in a blink of an eye, the vampire pursuing him intently, keeping up with his speed. She threw something down, shattering glass, and grey cloud spread around her. It flickered to life: fire. Percy's forehead perspired in fear. Fire was a weakness. Nico had warned him well enough. And now there was fire, blazing and lethal, separating him and the vampire from Annabeth. Percy backed into the dead end, running off pure adrenaline. Trying not to think too much about it, he sunk his fangs into her blood. It tasted like acid and rotting sewage, not the familiar metal, and he gagged against her as she thrashed, sucking it out as much as he could, but he eventually had to pull away to spit it out, his stomach churning in disgust and illness. She took his moment of weakness, preying on it, and she ducked around the fire just as it closed in, leaving him stranded to be consumed by the fire, and Annabeth to be claimed by her.

Annabeth scrambled to her feet and ran into the sidewalk, but the vampire was too fast for her. She sprang again, gurgling and hissing. "Girl," the vampire hissed. "Flesh. Mortal. Blood. You'll make him talk for me, won't you? Such a pretty girl. So tasty." It seemed some part of Annabeth had passed beyond terror into an icy stillness. Backing away, Annabeth seized the top of a trash can, casting it as hard as she could. It slammed against the warlock, but the woman hardly stumbled, not seeming to notice. It came toward Annabeth still, broken glass and trash splintered under her feet. "The Daylighter will be _mine."_

Percy was choking, unable to breathe in the everlasting fire the vampire had created. He could only watch in stunned fear as she encroached on the girl he'd known all his life.

Annabeth's back hit the wall. She could back up no further. She felt a movement against her neck and nearly jumped out of her skin. Her necklace. Grasping the ridiculous Christian cross her mother made her wear, she yanked the cross off the chain, and it was painfully hot against her palm, pulsing wildly.

The vampire hurtled into her, knocking the blonde to the ground, and her head and shoulders slammed against the floor. She twisted to the side, but the vampire was too heavy and much too strong. The demonic woman was on top of her, an oppressive, slimy weight that made her want to gag. The hot breath in her face stank of blood, and she couldn't breathe. Her ribs felt like they might shatter. Her arm was pinned between her body and the monster's, the necklace charm digging into her palm. She twisted, trying to work her hand free.

The vampire's mouth twitched, her claws scraping down the blonde's neck. She dipped her head to bite into her with her pointy fangs.

Annabeth's hand came free. With a scream, she hit out at the thing, wanting to smash it, to blind it. She had almost forgotten about the necklace. As the demonic lady lunged for her face, jaws wide, she jammed the cross between the vampire's teeth and felt the hot, warm heat of the fire coat her skin.

As if from a distance, Annabeth could hear herself screaming. Looking almost surprised, the vampire jerked back, the cross lodged between two teeth. She growled, a thick angry buzz, and threw her head back. Annabeth saw it swallow, saw the movement of her throat. _I'm next_ , she thought, panicked. _I'm_ —

The vampire began spasming uncontrollably, rolling off Annabeth and onto her back. Black fluid poured from her mouth.

Gasping for air, Annabeth rolled over and started to scramble away from the thing. She'd nearly reached the sidewalk when she heard something whistle through the air next to her head. She blinked, her vision tunneling in the heat, coughing helplessly from the pouring smoke of the fire.

She wasn't sure, but it looked an awful like an arm, and when she blinked up, the world spinning around her, she saw Percy on top of the vampire, his body set aflame, his eyes a glowing, haunting green as he ripped the vampire to shreds, his fangs dripping with black blood like a monster.

There was something red and slimy in his hand—a heart, Annabeth realized, and she dry-heaved. She wanted to beg him to stop, her chest rising and falling with her heavy breathing, the pure _fear_ she felt, not of the vampire any more but of Percy himself. The vampire was dead, God she was so dead, and Percy wasn't stopping, almost like he _enjoyed_ it. He was in severe pain, his arms and neck covered in red welts of the flames.

"Percy," she pleaded weakly, succumbing her fatigue. Her arm and neck felt like they were dying.

The very last thing she saw was Percy falling to his knees before her so that they were equals, him and Annabeth, abandoning the corpse of the vampire in the thick of the fire. He hung his head, waiting, only ever waiting, for her. He reached out like he wanted to hold her, help her, his eyes still glowing, but wide with a sort of panic she had never seen before.

She had watched him tear out the necks and hearts and guts of the enemy, and yet—yet she wanted him to hold her. She wanted to reach out to hold him, tell him not to look so worried. If he had wanted to hold her, if he had asked, she would have said _yes._ She would have told him yes a thousand times, and that realization alone was just as terrifying as the woman had been.

And then it all went dark as she collapsed forward into blackness.

…

"She said brown," said Percy, "and an eyepatch, just like the boy in my dream. There's something going on, something sinister."

"Yeah, well you'd better take it easy, superman. You nearly died back there."

Percy winced as Thalia patched him up. Nico had come through after all. Since he had sired Percy, they were connected, by blood like Calypso had said, and otherwise as well. He had felt Percy's essence burning away, and he had come just in time to see Percy shaking Annabeth frantically.

"Is she going to be okay?" The wounds on Percy's arm faded from Thalia's touch as he pointed at Annabeth.

"Physically? Splendid. Never better," said Thalia tartly. "Mentally? Traumatized."

Percy's mouth hung open.

"Crushed. Like a grape."

"Thalia," Nico snapped, and Thalia stopped talking. Nico couldn't quit pacing. In fact, it was the most nervous Percy had ever seen him.

He knew it was for various reasons, all valid: one, Annabeth knew the supernatural existed; two, the council knew about the attacks, and they were driving all the leaders of all supernatural forces wild, including Thalia, Reyna, and Nico, as well as the faerie Queen; three, Percy's nightmares had some substance if Annabeth had backed up his vision, meaning there truly _was_ an angel somewhere, probably; four, there was the unsettling fact that an old vampire, exiled and called Akhlys according to Nico, had come after him, hunting him for his Daylighter powers, and she couldn't be the only one, meaning Percy's life was in grave danger; five, if someone was torturing an angel, holding Heaven's messengers and deities captive, there was a reason for it, and it couldn't possibly be innocent curiosity if they were risking the wrath of Hell and Heaven both for chaining an angel, one of Raziel's court; six, the myths were true, all of them, and Heaven was not a figment of their imagination.

"Callie, fetch a wet cloth, won't you?" Nico faced the blonde, and she ran down the stairs, dampened a rag, and was back in half a second. Thalia pressed the cool scrap to Annabeth's forehead.

"V-vampire." Everyone's gaze snapped to Annabeth in horror. They dared not bring her back to the mansion, afraid it would tempt the clan, and so she laid sprawled across Thalia's apartment's couch.

Annabeth coughed, sitting up and blinking the crust out of her eyes. She slowly looked from stranger to stranger, absorbing the faces of Nico, Thalia, Calypso, and finally Percy. He couldn't read her expression, and that only made it so much worse.

"We'll give you a moment," Thalia muttered, making her way to the door. Nico and Calypso slipped out after her, shutting the door rather harshly behind them, leaving Percy alone with this girl he would do anything for, and who probably thought he was the spawn of Satan himself.

"So," Annabeth began, swallowing noisily. "You're a vampire."

He winced. It sounded even worse when it came from her mouth. "Are you okay?"

She looked at him like he was stupid, and he supposed he deserved it. "Tell me everything."

It was a request, her voice shaky, and he took pity on her, starting from the beginning, explaining this world he had never known before: a land of warlocks, and faeries, and werewolves, and vampires. A world in which he was special and now actively being hunted for reasons he didn't understand. When he was finished, she was at a loss for words.

"So you're still kind of in a cult. A clan."

"Annabeth." He made a noise of protest. "Be serious."

"I am," she said, and her bottom lip wobbled, giving away her stoic exterior.

"Do you hate me?" he breathed, bracing himself for her answer.

She studied him like she never had before, seeing him in a new light. "How could I hate you? Irritated, maybe, mostly for keeping me in the dark. Hate you? Never." Her mouth twitched, but the humor was forced. "But you saved me."

He blinked, unsure of what he had been expecting. Bibles thrown at his head like weapons? Screaming? Horror? Her expression was placid, unchanged. He should've known Annabeth would still be calm, even in the craziest of situations.

He laughed pathetically. "I didn't do shit."

"But you did." She sat up in the bed. "I saw you atop the woman before I passed the hell out. You _saved_ me."

"Annabeth, I was only able to take it down after you."

"Me?" Her eyebrows crumpled adorably, and he knew he was losing it because in which world was Annabeth _cute_? Pretty, sure. Adorable? Never. She would probably murder him if he ever said so out loud.

"Yes, you." He admired her face. If it had been him, he probably would've passed out again. Or pissed himself. "That was some quick thinking."

"What are you talking about?"

"Annabeth, think about it." He knew she could figure it out. "If we're children of Hecate and Hell, then think what light powers do us." Nico had stepped back into the room, quietly, but Percy saw him, and he nodded at him in acknowledgment, though his eyes didn't stray off the girl in front of him.

Her cheeks colored in realization. "My necklace."

"She killed it with a cross?" Nico seemed vaguely impressed, though it was always concealed, seeing as that was just the way he was.

"She did," Percy affirmed. "I mean, I made _sure_ it was dead."

Nico grinned morbidly, and Percy shared his enthusiasm for the first time since he had turned.

"But she did it first." Percy gestured to Annabeth.

Nico inspected Annabeth with new curiosity. "Not bad for a mortal."

"So you're Nico?" she asked, her lips parting up in surprise at Nico. Percy would've thought she'd be afraid to be sitting in a room with two of the most lethal creatures on Earth, but only her tapping fingers gave her away. She didn't cry, or panic, or scream.

"The one and only," Nico drawled, eyeing Annabeth suspiciously. "You said the guy you bit had a metallic taste?"

Annabeth nodded slowly, and Percy cringed.

"Do you feel strange?" Nico asked, and she shook her head. Then he did something that surprised Percy. Nico unsheathed his fangs, piercing his own skin. The scent of his metallic blood filled the air, and Annabeth's pupils dilated in addiction. "You're hooked," Nico declared softly, shaking his head. "Damn it. Thalia!"

Thalia lazily draped against the doorframe, sipping at tequila even if it was the middle of the night. Annabeth's irises flickered in recognition at the description of the girl Jason had ranted about. "You called?" she asked, tipsy.

Nico rolled his eyes. "Heavenly water. Where's the nearest house of worship?"

"There's a synagogue a couple blocks down west."

"And where's Calypso?"

"Feeding."

Annabeth turned ashy at Thalia's answer, and Percy glared at the warlock, but she only waved her fingers in dismissal. "Relax, Perce. It's not like Calypso's feeding on human blood. Only animals. Something about saving human blood for dessert." Annabeth was white as a sheet.

"Stop talking," Percy commanded, and Thalia only tilted her cup back into her mouth, uncaring. At least when she was drinking, she was quiet. "I can take her," Percy offered, turning to Nico.

"You can't go inside," Nico reminded him.

Percy sighed tiredly. "Yeah, I know."

"What's going on?" Annabeth queried, completely lost.

"Holy water," Percy explained. "It flushes out demon blood."

"I didn't ingest demon blood."

"Yes, you did." Percy stood up, opening the door, and Annabeth scrambled to her feet, silently mumbling a 'thanks' for him holding the door. "The brown-eyed boy you speak of—he was a vampire."

Annabeth's mouth fell open in a small 'o.' "Wait, but if you said vampire blood is addictive, aphrodisiac—"

"—exactly."

She chewed her bottom lip nervously. "Can't you like… I don't know, suck the demon blood out?"

Percy squinted at her. "That's in Twilight."

Nico made a face of disgust. "I hate Twilight."

Calypso was in the hallway. "Oh, me too," she agreed enthusiastically. "Edward Cullen looks like cocaine on a stick."

"And the whole sparkling thing?" Thalia piped up. "It's probably to make up for his lack of di—"

"—besides," Percy interrupted loudly, desperate to get away from the subject of vampire genitals, knowing it would just turn into another rabbit hole, "my mother told me to never suck someone's blood."

Annabeth narrowed her eyes at him. "That's very strange advice."

"I was a strange child.

Annabeth held up her hands in surrender. "Look, I don't know."

"Clearly," Nico muttered, rolling his eyes. "Now hurry up, Percy. You're burning nightti—" He cut himself off when he remembered. "Nevermind. Be careful. I'll have my phone; call me if anything goes wrong."

"You're not coming?" Percy couldn't keep the surprise from his voice.

Nico's face darkened, almost pained. "I hate God." He slammed the door on Percy's face.

…

Annabeth gagged, seated in the grass outside of the church, drinking the holy water.

"That bad?"

"It tastes like feet," she groaned. "And it feels like it's burning."

"It's burning the demon blood, and, well, you better finish it unless you want to be turned into a subjugate by some vamp."

Her eyes widened, and she quickly began to down glass after glass until she was finished entirely.

"All good?"

She slumped forward in exhaustion. "Mhm."

Percy stood to his feet, reaching out a hand for her. There was no point hiding his lack of heartbeat any more if she knew. The hairs on her arm still stood up when she touched him, momentarily forgetting how cold he was going to be.

"You really do have no heartbeat," she murmured, amazed.

"I like to think I don't have a heart at all, regardless," Percy joked, and she cracked the tiniest of smiles, but it was enough. Then she surprised him. Annabeth reached out bravely, splaying her slim fingers across his chest, feeling for a pulse that wouldn't be there. She pulled away, not saying a word as he walked her back home in the dark, just the two of them.

"Will you be at school on Monday?"

"No," said Percy, somewhat guiltily. "Speaking of, don't tell anybody, okay?"

She smiled wryly. "I wouldn't have anyway." And because it was her, he knew she was telling the truth.

They stood outside her front door, the familiar porch lights glowing above them.

He sighed. "I'm sorry, Annabeth. I'm so sorry for dragging you into this mess."

She looked up at him so seriously that he thought if he'd had a heart, it would've skipped a beat, melting for her. He would let her shatter him if she wanted to. Her, Jason, Grover, and Piper.

"Do you ever miss it?" said Annabeth sincerely. "Do you ever want to be normal?"

Percy smiled sadly. "Normal? A normal vampire alone would be great, forget mortality."

"Immortality seems unfortunate." She chewed the inside of her cheek. "You'll be careful?"

He nodded obediently.

"I know they're all after you, and I know you probably feel alone, but just know…" she paused, thinking. "Just know that here, somewhere in a world you no longer belong to, there's somebody in your corner."

Percy felt the irrational urge to cry. "Thank you," he managed, his voice gruff. She looked a little misty-eyed herself, even if she was too prideful to ever admit it out loud.

"You're still Percy to me," she promised, and he had never wanted to be more mortal than he did now. He wanted to kiss her something fierce; he wanted her to love him like he should've been able to love her; he wanted to love her even more than he liked Calypso.

"Goodnight, Wise Girl," he bid her goodbye, and he felt her eyes on his back as he turned and left her and his hopes of a mortal world behind, her small hand, the one that had touched him so fearlessly, waving after him. But if he got this right, this wouldn't be a farewell after all. Nico had told him to come straight back to the mansion to discuss protective measures for his Daylighter abilities, but he had an agenda to attend first. He knew it was stupid, dangerous, and Nico would've hit him so hard for even thinking about it, but talking with Annabeth had reminded him of how much he missed his old life, and he was satisfied yet. Not quite yet.

Calypso had told him the fey were the eldest of all the specimens, that they knew more, and they were manipulative, and that you should never trust a faerie, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Faerieland was another place in and of itself. And he had seen the paintings of the several entrances, disguised by nature and hidden in the Earth rather than in man-made areas. He had asked Calypso then, and she had told him all she knew, and he knew he should've felt bad for extorting information from her, especially when what he was about to do with insanely stupid, but he didn't. He had only one goal in mind: the next time he stepped into the light, he wanted to be man once more.

Percy peeked at the reflection of the moon on Turtle Pond in Central Park. The reflection in the water did not match the world above the reflection, the sublest different, but it meant everything all at once.

He hesitated, his promise to Annabeth still lingering on his tongue. _You'll be careful?_ What she didn't realize was that he would throw it all away in a nanosecond to stand beside his friends again, and he may have been the same to her, but he didn't feel the same. He had spent his past week and a half with the vampires and few warlocks, had met the werewolves, and he had decided he didn't want this target over his head any longer. He would rather die.

The moon glittered eerily. Percy shut his eyes and dove, the hard planes of his body effortlessly sliding into the water like he was a drop of it himself, not a splash crashing up—a direct result of his years and years of diving and swimming competitively. Then he was free-falling, the trees and glittery air rushing past him as he plummeted down, down, down into the land of euphoria and fallen angels.


	5. Chapter 5

"What the hell do you mean he's _missing_?" Annabeth stood in her kitchen on a Saturday morning. It was the first weekend morning where she _didn't_ have to be somewhere: cello lessons, debate practice, track conditioning, volunteering, etc. And she'd woken up at five in the morning to a call from some girl who called herself Silena. "And how do you get my number? Is Piper messing with me again?" she demanded, drumming her fingernails across the countertop.

"It's not a practical joke," the girl pleaded. She was sweet— _too_ sweet—and Annabeth knew this was another one of Percy's _friends._ She suppressed a shudder. The only one of them who didn't make her completely uneasy was Percy himself, and that was because she'd known him before all this mess.

"How am I supposed to know where he is?" Knowing Percy, he was probably out eating pizza, scaring everyone half to death with his temporary disappearance. _Except he can't eat pizza anymore_ , Annabeth remembered. "Why don't you go ask that pretty blonde of yours?" She couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice. She had seen the way Calypso looked at him, and she wasn't _jealous_ , okay? That was completely and totally immature, and it wasn't even applicable because she didn't even _like_ Percy like that. Maybe she just didn't like that Percy was so close with the other vampires. Maybe Calypso was just very pretty. Hell if Annabeth knew, and hell if she was going to try and figure it out at this ungodly hour in the morning.

"I already said," Silena said irritatedly, "Calypso doesn't know anything."

"I bet," Annabeth muttered snarkily. She eyed the coffee maker in the corner of the kitchen, and, pinning the phone between her shoulder and her ear, she stood on her tip-toes to reach for the pouch of coffee grounds. Suddenly she wished for Percy to be there. He was only a few inches taller than her, but maybe he could put his superhuman powers to good use and fetch her some caffeine.

Silena muttered something unkindly. "Don't make me get our sire. He's not nearly as understanding as I am."

"Nico?" Annabeth drawled. "He's a little ray of sunshine, isn't he?" She probably _should've_ been afraid, but maybe it was the caffeine deprivation that was making her brave. Or maybe it was because AP exams were rapidly approaching, and she would've rather cut off her own arm or died like a martyr before she sat down to take those. Or maybe it was the fact that she knew Percy would tear them apart for touching her, so she might as well have said whatever she wanted at this point. Oh, and she'd hit them with her mother's stacks of bibles before they got within a foot. She was happily, somewhat psychotically self-sufficient like that. She smirked at the mental image.

"Look, I have no idea where he is. Honest. He gets distracted by _everything_ , a side effect of ADHD. Or maybe it's just a side effect of being Percy. I'll let you choose," she added before Silena could turn blue in the face. Did they even turn blue? She'd have to ask Percy later; he would probably be delighted by the idea, and he'd make himself pass out trying. "He's probably out doing something stupid like usual. If he doesn't turn up in a couple hours, call me again, and we'll put up little signs like he's a lost puppy: one missing, sexy vampire who sucks at being a vampire." The coffee bag fell into her hands, and she grinned victoriously.

"You're not worried at all?" Silena hissed.

Annabeth waved her hand dismissively even if she couldn't see her. "It's Percy. He does something dumb, and then he somehow makes it out fine, and then we all stare at him in wonder while he casually eats everything in our kitchens." At least that was a perk—he'd quit raiding her fridge like the machine he was. She was convinced his stomach was a bottomless pit, a dark abyss slowly turning blue. The only blue he'd be turning was his face after she punched him for disappearing in a couple hours.

"You realize the entire Downworld's after him?" Silena snapped. "They'd do anything for his power."

She sounded too intrigued for Annabeth's liking. Her fingers tightened around her phone. A wave of unease washed over her. That was true; she had forgotten Percy's Daylighter abilities nearly killed her and him too. Annabeth abandoned the filled mug of coffee, suddenly losing her appetite. _Percy, what have you done?_

"Where are you guys?" Annabeth was already grabbing a thin jacket by the front door.

Silena's voice stiffened. "None of your business. This is vamp business; I just want to know if you know anything. If not, stay out of it."

"It's daylight," Annabeth snapped. "It's not like any of you can go searching for him right now anyway. I'm going to look for him." She slammed the front door behind her after slipping her feet into sturdy boots. She silently prayed that he was okay.

"This is dangerous business, little girl—"

"—my name is not little girl," she interrupted, annoyed. "And I did martial arts for seven years. I'll be fine." She was only half-joking. She was no match for the supernatural, not physically, but she had always relied on her brain, and this was no different. "Besides, none of you have known him as long as I have, so can the attitude. Call me if you learn anymore." She hung up, and, ignoring the rush she got for cutting off superhuman beings like a badass, or a fool—she hadn't decided yet—she ran to hail a cab. Percy's favorite place had always been Lower Manhattan, and it was a good place to start.

…

In Faerieland, nature seemed to take a whole new interpretation to being alive. The trees bent and swayed to the will and steady breathing of the Seelie Queen. She had sleek black hair that fell around her face in a dark curtain, and her eyes were a glimmering collage of autumnal leaves, different shades of browns and oranges all colliding together. Her eyelids were rimmed with pink makeup, and her lips were a dark, rosy pink. She had high cheekbones and smooth, porcelain skin. There was a tall crown on her head, delicate and reflective, made of glass and vines and flowers. Her dress was made of nature too, wrapping around her obediently, the flowers near her slim fingers curling toward her affectionately. Dangerously beautiful.

 _They're beautiful like the angels, and they're vicious and malevolent like the demons,_ Percy heard Calypso's voice in his head. _Faeries are fallen angels, cast out of Heaven for their pride._

"My Lady," Percy said breathlessly, at least _trying_ to show some sort of respect.

The Queen leaned forward onto the edge of her tall throne, seemingly fascinated with him. The v-neck in her dress dipped low enough to be embarrassing for even Percy. She stroked the thorns on the roses too comfortably to settle well with him. "Zoë," she began, almost bored, "leave us." Her guards filed out, murmuring _yes, my Queen, yes, my Lady_ as they left them alone.

Percy's mouth felt dry, unnerved. He hoped she couldn't tell, but the way she was smiling, inherently amused, coy, told him he was dead wrong.

"I was beginning to wonder when I'd see you, Perseus Jackson," she crooned.

He didn't even bother to ask how she knew about him. Something told him she knew more than even Chiron. Something told him she knew more about him than he knew about _himself_. Her eyes trailed his body, and he shifted his weight onto his other foot. "My Lady—"

"—you may call me Drew. I'm not your Lady; I only rule Faerieland." She smiled like he was a little kid, messing up adorably. "I know you're new to this, and I'm incredibly surprised you were brave enough to come by yourself. I'm sure all of your little… _friends_ warned you to stay away."

It struck him suddenly that she was much older than she seemed. To him, she looked like she was maybe a year older than Annabeth, but she was most likely millennials of years old. It sent a shiver down his spine, tingling like the spiders Annabeth hated. "They did," he agreed softly. If she was an expert manipulator then surely she would be able to see through his lies like glass, so he didn't bother. "They also said the fey are the eldest of the Downworld," he added nervously.

"They do not lie." She laughed lightly at her own joke, and it was intoxicating, like bells and music and drugs all rolled into one. Percy told himself it was more like nails against a chalkboard; he did not want to be stuck here forever in Faerieland, seduced by her sly ways. He was a native New Yorker; he didn't scare easily. "Let me guess, Perseus—"

"—Percy," he interrupted. "Nobody calls me Perseus."

"I'm not nobody," she said crisply, but she only arched an eyebrow and continued. "I assume you're here for a request? You want me to do the impossible because no one else can help you," she lulled. Her eyes glittered mischievously.

He nodded reluctantly.

She smiled slowly, her teeth white and blinding. "Let you know this, Percy: no favor comes without a price."

He felt his Adam's apple bob in his throat. "I'm willing to negotiate," he rasped. Funny enough, he could only think of Annabeth clearing her throat in mock trials, flawlessly delivering her closing statements. He'd never understood a word, but he had known she'd been good. He schooled his expression like she did, trying not to give anything away.

She hummed softly, sensually. "I'm sure you are." Everything about her was flirtatious: the way she leaned toward him, the swells of her chest pale and the glittering gold around her neck winking at him; the way her voice rose and fell like music; the way she eyed him like another possession she couldn't wait to get her hands on; the way she tilted her chin up in elegant confidence. Percy imagined Piper in his head, thwacking him with a rolled up magazine, telling him to concentrate, to snap out of her trance.

"I want to be mortal," said Percy, playing his cards openly for her to see. No secrets, not with the woman who could twist his brain more than any other being.

The corner of her full lips curved up in morbid amusement. "Nico didn't tell you all you could do, did he? He would not tell you all you are capable of, Percy," she whispered. "He's scared of you. He's scared you'll outpower him and dethrone him. He's scared because you can tear the entire Downworld with your very existence, boy."

He took a step back in surprise. "I couldn't," he argued. "And he wouldn't. Nico wouldn't keep anything about Daylighters from me." Even as he said it, he felt unfamiliar doubt cloud his brain. Drew, he realized, had a way of planting doubt where it shouldn't have been, but he felt it all the same. Nico was secretive and addicted to power. _Would he really?_

"Oh, but you already have," Drew crowed. "The Downworld aches for a taste of your abilities, Percy. They've already begun attacking you, haven't they?"

He winced. He knew then as he'd always known and hadn't wanted to; Nico would indefinitely hide something from him, even if it was for his own safety. Drew knew something he didn't. The curiosity burned him, eating away at him. Curiosity was the ultimate temptress; Drew had nothing on his own brain's way of torturing him.

"I'll tell you what you can do, Percy." She caressed his name in her mouth.

His face felt hot. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"I can't lie."

"No, but you _can_ twist your words," he pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest.

"So little faith." She clicked her tongue, narrowing her eyes on him. "No, actually, I think you'll want to believe me just this once because I'm telling you because I _want_ you to know."

He licked his lips nervously. Drew had slipped off her throne, and she ran her pale pink nails along his arms. "Why would warlocks want you, Percy? Why would the _fey_ want you?"

He tensed.

"Why would we all want you for the ability to walk in the sun? We can walk in the sun." Drew spread her arms, and the sunlight streaming through the tall forest trees casted an ethereal glow on her. "But there is one thing that ties us together, isn't there?"

Percy swallowed hard. "Death," he whispered so quietly he barely heard himself. The immortal breeds weren't invincible. The fey aged slower, and the vampires and warlocks were immortal, but they could be killed too.

She smiled, and her teeth just barely poked out of her pink lips. "Your blood carries the blood of the angels if you can walk in the sunlight, some way, somehow. Angels are the world's healers, and we are the world's destroyers."

It was then that he understood, and he had never wanted more to be left in the dark. "I can't," he said, choking.

Drew grinned. "Oh yes, little Daylighter, yes you can." She dropped her arm to her side, and the branches of the nearby tree creaked as it reached for her. She was still staring him down, though, unbothered by nature's want for her nurture and touch. Her next words sounded like the nails being pounded into his coffin, slamming it shut for all eternity.

"Your blood can bring back the dead."

…

"Thalia." Nico pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's not even dinner yet."

She grinned cheekily. "Every hour is happy hour, Neeks."

"Not that you'd know anything about that," Reyna taunted from across the table.

Nico narrowed his eyes at her. "I see there's still a bone up your ass."

"You're all being stupid," said Octavian matter-of-factedly. Nico frowned at him. As much as he hated the Seelie Queen herself, her representatives were almost always worse.

"You're one to talk," Thalia bit back, and Reyna rolled her eyes.

"Let's just start this meeting. I have somewhere to be," Reyna muttered, and miraculously no one objected.

"The murders," Nico murmured. His fingers tapped relentlessly against the wooden table. The murders were not his biggest concern anymore. His clan was perfected to a T; they would find the murderer soon enough. No, it was _Percy_ who worried him. That first vampire, Akhlys, would not be his first enemy. They were all after him, and it could get him killed.

"Where's your Daylighter?" Reyna drawled, eyeing Nico with too much curiosity. "I would've thought you'd bring him here after Downworlders started coming after him."

Nico stiffened. "He's fine, and you know as well as I do that we don't bring anyone to council meetings, as per the laws." He forced a smug smile. "Otherwise, I'm sure your little beta would trail after you, protection and all that."

Her face darkened. "What about your little minion? Doesn't she need you too, useless without the head mosquito—"

"Calypso could fend off half your pack on her own." Nico crossed his arms over his chest. "I wouldn't underestimate her if I was you."

"I would never underestimate such a beautiful creature—"

"Shut up," Thalia, Reyna, and Nico all snapped at the same time. Octavian only sneered, albeit cowering at their aggression.

Just at that moment, Calypso burst into the council room—strategically hidden in mortal, neutral territory. Her face was grim, and for a sickening second Nico thought she was going to tell him Percy was dead or _worse_ , but behind her a few more of the clan dragged a slumped man dressed in dark clothing into the room. Man was exaggerating; he was already a corpse.

Reyna jumped up in surprise, and Thalia flinched at his body, and Octavian curled back in disgust, but Nico didn't blink. The dead were part of vampires, and their tolerance was unrivaled.

"I'm sorry for interrupting," Calypso panted. Her chest rose and fell like she'd just ran a marathon, but Nico knew she didn't need air at all. She was doing it to put on a show and avoid Reyna's irritating commentary. Smart girl. "But the killer was already dead when we caught him."

Thalia paled significantly. "You found him?"

Calypso tossed a DNA test at her. "Kronos: leader of the Wild Hunt." The Wild Hunt was a faction of faeries comprised of both the fey and the dead, unassociated with the Seelie Queen.

Reyna rubbed her temples. "You're telling me that all these drained mortals—"

"—and werewolf slashed mortals," Thalia interrupted, determined not to allow the alpha to pin it all on vamps.

"—is the fault of faeries?" Reyna finished.

"Blasphemy!" Octavian cried. They all ignored him.

"He was found over the dead body of a little mortal girl, foaming at the mouth and dead." Calypso stood in front of the trio of vampires, and Nico studied her face carefully. She subtly shook her head so miniscule that nobody else would've understood, except for him and his bond with his own clan. The pit in his stomach expanded tenfold. Percy was still nowhere to be found.

"It _does_ make sense." Thalia's fluke was empty. "The Wild Hunt doesn't abide by the laws at all. They're not beholden to the Seelie Queen."

"Big deal," Calypso barked. "Beholden or not, the Queen is the Wild Hunt's resource pool. She indirectly provides for them, even if they aren't her protection. The blood is still on _her_ hands just much as it is on his." She jerked a finger toward Kronos.

"That leaves one question, then," Nico declared, and he felt all the eyes on him. He turned to glare at Octavian. "If Percy was attacked and _saved_ after being one of the victims of murder, and then he suddenly rises with Daylighter abilities, then that can only mean one thing."

Thalia crushed the fluke in her hand, and she was bleeding, but she didn't seem to care. Reyna growled at the realization, her wolfish tendencies surfacing.

Nico felt his fangs unsheath. He took a menacing step toward the fey representative. "How did you turn him over to the angels?"

Before Octavian could make a break for it, Thalia conjured handcuffs to pin him to the wall. She smiled slowly. "It's been a long time coming, and trust me when I say I'm going to _enjoy_ this."

…

Drew might as well have slapped him.

Percy stumbled back in surprise. "Vampires bring back people from the dead too," he weakly argued. She smirked. _Faeries,_ he realized, _thrive off chaos. It is in their nature, just as vengeance has found a home in them too._

"Your kind turns deceased mortals to undead supernatural beings. You, my boy, can bring them back to their original state with no recollection of what happened at all. Your blood heals like no other."

He felt sick, like throwing up. "Do you know how? Do you know what someone did to me to make me this way?" he desperately pleaded. More than the shock of the power itself was the betrayal of Nico. He hadn't told him at all, and even if Percy wanted to believe he hadn't for his own safety, it was frankly terrifying news.

She sat back onto her throne, almost bored. "No one does."

Percy hesitated. An image of his friends, particularly Annabeth, spun in his mind, laughing, beautiful, close. "And they'll attack me for the rest of eternity?"

"Your power will never be any less special," Drew murmured. "All of eternity." She examined her nails. "You won't be the only one; they'll go after your friends too, family…" she trailed off, her brown eyes flickering up to meet his.

Percy swallowed noisily. He couldn't let that happen.

"I'll make you a deal, Perseus," the Queen tempted. "I'll protect your friends and family, and you too if you want. Your vampires may be strong, and your warlocks too, but they'll never be as strong as us. My people are a small army; we have secrets older than you all combined." She smiled serenely.

He blinked, a small frown marring his expression. "What's in it for you?" There was no way the Queen would do anything out of the kindness of her heart; he wasn't _that_ stupid.

"I want a taste of your power." Drew's eyes gleamed. "I just want a drop of your blood for my troubles."

His gut curled in distaste. _Blood has power, Percy. Calypso smiled._ "No," he spat, backing away. "I won't. Blood has power."

Drew's eyes flashed angrily. "You came down here for a deal, Perseus. You can't possibly be so naive that you didn't expect to trade _something_ for my help? I'm not a patient woman."

Percy clenched his jaw. "That wasn't my original proposition. I want to be mortal." Perhaps if she upheld this deal, he would consider her protection of his loved ones.

"Mortality is a steeper price."

He pursed his lips. "I'm listening."

"Bring back one of my court members for me, and we'll call it even."

Percy was horrified. He might've not had a grip on how vampire politics worked completely yet, but he knew raising the dead back to original power was a big no. But… his mind wandered to his friends. It would be worth it in the end. If he turned mortal, he would both be happy, and he wouldn't need her protection for anyone. It was perfect. "It depends who it is."

"Afraid I'll raise a psychopath?"

He balled up his fist anxiously. "Something like that."

Drew pushed a flower before her. It was wilted and droopy and very much dead. "This. Raise this for me, and I shall turn you mortal."

He almost laughed. "Even I can see through that trick. A flower for my freedom? You would never."

Drew's lips twisted in distaste. She did not like to be doubted, Percy could see. "It's my old lover. I transformed him into a flower for running his mouth too much. Unfortunately, I forget to water him. I'd like him back in flower form."

He pursed his lips. "How do I know you're honorable? How do I know you'll keep your end?"

"I promise I will turn you back mortal." She spread her hands. "There. I cannot tell a lie. I'm full faerie. Is that good enough for you?"

He shifted his weight onto his other leg. She wasn't wrong. She _couldn't_ lie. "Deal."

She beamed, and she bent to uncover the glass over her flower. She gestured expectantly.

"I don't know how," he admitted, kneeling before the flower. Using his fangs, he tore open his palm. His own blood was metallic in his mouth. Squeezing his fist, Percy dripped the ruby red onto the flower petals, staining the white. _Blood has power._ He concentrated, imagining the flower reaching toward the sky, beautiful and blooming. Before his very eyes, the blood sunk into the flower, disappearing completely, and it slowly craned its petals to the sky, flourishing once more. His mouth fell open in surprise. "That's incredible." And horrifying. It was like he was able to play the part of God. Percy peeked up at Drew. "Your turn."

She rolled her eyes. "Patience, vamp. I always uphold my end of the bargain; don't you worry your pretty little head." She stood up, and she began to walk away, the long train of her dress flowing over the grass like water. She turned at the end, standing in the shadows of the trees, and she cocked an eyebrow at him. "Aren't you coming?"

Percy quickly ran and caught up, following from a respectful distance.

…

Annabeth slammed the door shut to her front door, frustrated. He hadn't been in Central Park. He hadn't been downtown. He hadn't been _anywhere._ He didn't pick up his phone. He was absolutely nowhere to be found, and she had searched for hours.

She raked her hair back in frustration, the worry gnawing at her chest, eating away at her. With each growing minute, the worry intensified, multiplying exponentially. She considered calling Jason or Piper or Grover for a moment, or even Percy's mother, but she didn't want to worry any of them, and she had the eerie feeling this had nothing to do with mortal business.

No—she knew Percy like the back of her hand. He was probably in trouble. Annabeth had left him an endless stream of missed calls and an equal amount of voicemails, telling him to call her back whenever he got the chance, pleading for him to stop by her house as soon as possible, stressing. He was supposed to be doing something stupid, smothering himself in ice cream, dyeing his sister's hair blue! Not dying. Not leaving her alone to fend for herself.

Her brothers were at a sleepover. Her mother was sleeping upstairs. Her father was out on a business trip. And she was seated alone on the couch in the living room, left to worry all by herself. She rubbed her temples; her head was pounding like a heartbeat, steady.

She let her head fall into her hands. She had never prayed before, and she only felt mildly silly doing so now. She thought it was just a bunch of bullshit her mother made up, but if there was any chance anybody up there was looking over her, then she wanted them to look over Percy.

…

"My Queen will have your head for this!" Octavian screeched. "We have done nothing wrong! You have never believed us!"

"Because you're manipulative pricks," Reyna spat.

Thalia created a gag out of thin air, and then Octavian's protests were blessedly muffled.

"What do we do? She's broken so many laws. She _directly_ went against the no-kill mortal clause." Calypso glared at the ground.

"And she'll never own up to it," Thalia agreed.

"We have Kronos' body," Reyna interrupted. "We have proof."

Nico only realized they'd finished speaking when they looked at him expectantly, the room falling silent.

"Penny for your thoughts, sir?" Silena murmured.

Nico gazed out the window into the night. "It doesn't make sense."

Calypso frowned. "What? You don't believe me?"

"Don't be so defensive," he said calmly. "I believe you, but it just doesn't add up. Did Kronos fake the werewolf slashes too? And the vampire bites? Did they wear contact lenses? Everyone's stories would've been different. There was evidence of vampires _and_ werewolves. Why would the fey put so much effort into faking it?"

No one could give him an answer.

"They're vicious," Thalia protested. "They'd do anything to tear the Downworld apart; they get high off dissonance."

Nico finally nodded, approving the plan. They would have to approach the Seelie Queen, lay her crimes bare before her and then go from there. But it didn't quit the nagging feeling in his chest that something was still wrong. Catching Kronos had been too easy. Too convenient. Too quick. It looked like the mortal girl had stabbed him with a pocket knife, and they'd both died, but then why foam at the mouth?

He was quiet as they made plans to storm Faerieland, his eyes glued to the night. Percy had said bronze eyes. Kronos' eyes were black. Furthermore, Percy was nowhere to be found.

There was more to it. Nico was sure of it; he had lived far too many years to know when something sinister was going on, to know when the evil lay further than on the surface, but for now he said nothing. He had no evidence, only a hunch. Now he could do nothing but wait, going along with everyone else's plans, and wait for the _true_ evil to slip up.

…

The Seelie Queen dipped a bowl into the stream before them. Percy gaped at the water. "This is holy."

"Yes," Drew agreed. She held it close to her chest.

"Holy water kills vampires."

"Well," she paused, "yes, I suppose it does. It burns away all the demon blood; it is why it pains your kind so much. But if you are a Daylighter, then you shall have some trace of angelic blood in you, something to keep you grounded. If you can last through the pain, you'll be mortal." She grinned sadistically.

He flinched. It was too late to go back now; he'd already paid her with her flower. "Fine."

She picked up a rock, and the blood on it was dark and black. He recognized it immediately. It was the rock from Cain and Abel. Cain, too, had been a vampire. It was only fitting it would turn you back mortal. She thrusted it into his hands, and he inspected it carefully, cautious not to touch the blood.

"Cain was a Daylighter," said Drew. "He was the son of Adam and Eve, and he had the angel's blood in him. I turned him into a mortal too, you know, when he was so grief-stricken from killing his brother. This will return you to exactly as you were before."

Percy blinked. So she really _was_ old.

"He died." She smiled with her teeth. "Not strong enough to bear the pain. Are you, Perseus Jackson?"

He scowled. He had to be. "Thanks for telling me this all beforehand."

"Watch the attitude," she warned. "I do not take kindly to disrespectful Downworlders, boy." Carefully, she placed the bowl on top of the rock, balancing it.

He bit his tongue to shut up and prevent anymore smart commentary. Pissing off the Queen could only end in death. Then again, this whole thing was a risk. He could _die._

"Drink," she ordered.

Everything in him told him not to, that the water would burn him alive. Percy glanced at Drew's face again—serious and still—and he drank. It felt like drinking fire, like it would be to drink from the river Phlegethon. He choked, his insides aflame, glowing from the holy water, but he drank some more, refusing to spit any of it out. In his peripheral vision, he saw Drew examining him, quiet and unsympathetic. He drank some more. He drank until it was finished.

Percy fell to his knees, the pain overtaking him. The blood on the rock bubbled like lava, but he didn't let go. He cried out. He had never wanted to be dead more than he did now; death did not hurt, not like this. He spat out blood, his _own_ blood, from the boils and burns inside him. Inside him, the demon blood fought the holy water, and Percy felt himself weakening. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore it and his tortured screaming.

" _She said it would return to you exactly as you were before. Where were you last when you were mortal?" The redhead angel smiled pitifully._

Percy gasped in agony. Was she trying to talk to him _now?_ Really? He imagined himself standing in front of her, telling her.

" _I was dead. They brought me back to be a vampire."_

_The angel shook her head. "Don't you see?"_

Percy's eyes flew open with understanding. His hands were bony and white, like those of a corpse, and he was sure his face didn't look much better. He heaved, retching the holy water and some of his own blood and fluids up with it. His bones felt brittle, and he trembled, gagging a few more times as he purged the rest of heaven. He was burned from the inside out, but the demon blood in him had fought it well, getting rid of it the second Percy had allowed it. His stomach churned in disgust, and his skin was covered in boils, swelling, and welts. It was still better than bursting into a ball of flames from the water.

"You tricked me!" he cried. It would return him to exactly as he was; he had been _dead_ before he had become a vampire. She had not lied. He would've reverted back to a mortal, just as she'd promised, only he'd be a corpse as he had been before.

Drew smiled evilly. Her fingers tilted his chin up, and they were wet with the water. He hissed in pain, trying to pull away, but her grip was that of iron. "If I can't have your power, then no one can," she vowed. "Now look at you. Half-dead. Pathetic. You'll probably die here." She smirked.

"Bite me," he spat furiously and only then realized what he'd said.

She only tsked disapprovingly. "What a shame. Don't let your blood stain my grass." And with that, she cupped her flower protectively and walked away, leaving him collapsed on the bank of her river by himself, scorched by all that was holy. He had lost so much blood, half of the demon blood burned by the water, and he was severely charred. She was right: he would probably die here.

Percy felt the world spin above him. In his head, the angel was still screaming from the torture. He would _not_ die. People needed him, right? Perhaps it was better to die. Nobody would go after his loved ones if he was dead.

" _No one is ever better dead, dear."_

It was the angel again, whispering in his head, telling him how to save himself.

Percy grasped desperately at a nearby tree trunk and managed to claw his way to his feet. If he had any hope of survival, he needed blood, and he needed it now. But he needed Annabeth more. This may have been the last night he saw, and he wanted to see her first. He wanted her to tell him it would all be okay, even if it wouldn't. He stumbled forward, determined to make it out of here, to make it to Annabeth's house alive if not anywhere else.

Every step was a torment. Every second was misery. The memory of Akhlys swam in his mind: _Misery is_ eternal. _Existence is misery._ But he wasn't weak. He hadn't made it this far for nothing. Percy slowly but surely made his way to the portal out.

If this was his last night on Earth, then he wanted to go out with a bang, he wanted Annabeth to tell his mom he loved her. He wanted Annabeth to know he loved her too, that he loved her, and Jason, and Piper, and Grover, and Thalia, and Nico, and Calypso, and Paul, and Estelle.

" _You're going to be our hero, my boy. Just you wait."_

…

Drew dipped the flower in holy water. Before her, it sprung to life. The petals morphed into flesh, and then there was a young man laid in the bed of flowers before her, his eyes closed. She gently stroked the side of his face, waiting for him to awaken.

Perseus Jackson was a damned fool. If she could turn him into a flower, what's to say she couldn't turn him back?

She smiled to herself. "You let the world believe it was me. I should be proud—it takes a clever mind to send the Downworld into panic, turning against one another like monsters—but alas I am not." The rose thorns cut into his skin, but he was blissfully unconscious for now. "Does your master know I have you? Who are they? Why do they have a personal vendetta against me? Why are they creating chaos? Why do they have an angel in their possession, and why the foolish vampire?"

The young man obviously didn't answer.

She dragged him by his hair through the plants, his body bumping against rocks and bushes and trees. She didn't care much; she hummed as she went. There were stray twigs stuck in his clothes and eyepatch. She couldn't wait until he woke.

"Zoë!"

The young girl appeared at her call, her head lowered in respect. "Yes, my Queen?"

"We have a visitor who needs to be locked up. I'd love to speak to him when he awakens." She smiled sardonically, still humming as she gracefully sat back in her throne.

Her hands were coated in the blood from his head.


	6. Chapter 6

Annabeth swung the door open, and her jaw dropped open. "You look half dead!" she whisper-yelled, ushering him into the house.

He passed a mirror by the back entrance, and he cringed. His cheeks had sunken in a bit, his face gaunt, and he definitely looked like he was wearing Halloween makeup. Except he wasn't. The verge of death certainly was tolling.

Annabeth was rummaging through the fridge, probably looking for meat or anything that could give him blood, but his vision was haunted with black spots, bleary and painful. He slowly slid against the wall, falling to the ground.

"Don't you dare!" Her arm came around to hold him up. There was no way she'd be able to lift him if he sat down; it was like trying to move a boulder. Instead, her fist wrapped around the front of his shirt, and she shoved him against the wall to keep him still. Percy's head lolled to one side. She let out a startled, quiet scream. "Oh my God. Percy, your chest!" Her hand hovered over his welt-covered torso and neck.

He quietly groaned in pain at her touch. Everything hurt.

"Why wouldn't you go to the mansion? You're so stupid." She was cursing, abandoning her fridge search. She came back with a cold, wet cloth, dabbing at his wounds, but they did little to nothing for holy wounds. There was no cure but blood at this point, the natural vampire healer, something to stimulate demon blood cells once more.

He shook his head, his face scrunched up.

"Where were you? Who hurt you?" she demanded, finally pulling away when he feebly pushed her hands away. Her touch was only making it so much worse, and it didn't help that her blood and sweat was all he could smell. "How far's the mansion? Damn it, Percy, answer me!"

He let his eyes slide shut. "I just wanted you to… to tell my mom I'm sorry. Come up with a lie for everybody I know. I don't want them… I don't want them to know."

"Stop talking like that. Stop talking like you're dying. You just need blood, right? Blood, blood…" She muttered incoherent things to herself, her mind going a mile a minute. She indelicately dangled raw steaks in front of him, holding them to his mouth to drink.

Percy greedily took the blood in, but it wasn't nearly enough. His face was still skinny, and he seemed to be getting worse with every second.

She carded her fingers through her hair, stressed.

"Relax, Beth," he managed to croak out. "I just wanted to see you. One last time." He leaned his head back against the wall.

She was trying to fix it—he could tell from the look on her face—but there was no fixing this. "Where were you?" she asked again. "I was searching for you. We all were. I'm going to _murder_ whoever did this to you."

He shook his head again imperceptibly. "Faerie." He was going numb, his senses overloaded.

There was a beat of silence. "You went searching for the fey? You're so stupid! Why would you, why—" She cut herself off, her lips twisting into a grim line as realization dawned on her.. "You're so stupid," she said again, and her voice cracked.

He didn't say anything, submitting himself to his fate. She had told him he was stupid all his life, and if this was how she was going to let him go, then he would die happy. Maybe if she hated him when he went, it would be easier on her.

"I'm mortal," she said so quietly he just barely heard her. "Drink my blood."

He stared at her in horror. He didn't move at all.

"Damn it, Percy; you could die!" _Again._

" _You_ could die." His voice trembled, and he was white as a sheet.

Annabeth grabbed a knife off the kitchen counter and she sliced it across her forearm without wincing. She trickled it into his mouth, and it was sweeter than he could've ever imagined. But it was only a few drops, not nearly enough to do the trick.

"You need to bite me, Percy."

"I can't," he groaned. Everything felt dizzy, and he was sure this was the end. _If I start, I don't know if I'll be able to stop._

"Yes, you can." There were tears welling in her eyes. "You have to."

"The venom," he protested. It would ruin her. Make her dependent. She'd have to ingest so much holy water to fix it, so much so that it would be a personal hell. Was the world _supposed_ to spin like this? He felt her arms come around him, helping him onto soft padding: a couch, perhaps.

"It's okay, Percy. It's okay." She was definitely crying; that much, at least, he could make out. Her fingers were in his hair, and it felt like it used to when they were all a little younger, back when the world hadn't crushed them to dust, taking their hopes and dreams with it. They would curl up on the couch, the five of them, and he had always, _always_ been on her team. She kept him grounded, and he taught her to fly.

"I don't want to," he insisted. The mere notion of biting any of his friends was appalling, _especially_ Annabeth. "This isn't… this isn't the best piece of me."

"Percy," she said impatiently. "Would you get rid of my stubbornness, given the choice? Would you get rid of the fact that I throw stuff at you when you interrupt my studying? Would you want to change my short-temper, even knowing how I yell at my stupid, _stupid_ little brothers?" She arched a delicate eyebrow.

Percy's features pinched in confusion. "Of course not. That's who you are."

She shot him a dry look, but it was poorly concealing the sheer terror on her face. At first he thought it was of him, but then he realized it was of him _dying_. "This is who _you_ are. I wouldn't change a thing, and I can't _believe_ you tried to. If this doesn't kill you, then I will. Now drink." She thrust her wrist into his face so that it was hovering mere centimeters before his mouth.

"I'm—I'm so sorry," he whispered, and he gave into her pleading. He sunk his fangs into her soft skin, and the flinch on her face was worse than he could've imagined. Then he was soaring, unable to even register her. All he could do was taste her blood, energy thrumming back into him. It wasn't unbearably sweet—Annabeth didn't entertain refined sugars too often—but it was mouthwatering and exactly as he had always hoped. It was his greatest relief, and the power that surged through him was incomparable. He lost all ability to control himself, this being his final straw. For a moment it felt like he was alive again, his heart elated. The color had returned to his face, and he was dimly aware of a steak abandoned in the trash can by the doorway. He felt her head fall on top of his, her eyes fluttering shut in bliss, submitting to the ecstasy that came with having your blood pulled from your veins from one of Hecate's own. Her skin grew paler under his, but she was warm with mortality and excitement and adrenaline, and he forced himself to pull away.

He hadn't been sure he'd be able to, but he had, and it was a triumph in its own right. Percy's eyes flickered down to her wrist. There were two neat puncture marks on the inside flesh and two thin streams of blood from where gravity had taken its hold. Some innate instinct in him forced him to lean forward and lick it clean, savoring every last drop. She shuddered underneath his touch.

"Oh, g—I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You're wasting away before me." Percy helped her onto the couch, laying her down on her side. She squinted up at him in the dim lights. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She reached out, her fingers brushing against his forehead where, no doubt, there were worried crinkles in his skin. "I'm fine," she assured him. There was a ghost of a smile on her face—trusting and patient. Her hand cupped his cheek, healthy and full and colored—as colored as pale vampires could be—but he barely felt it, so overcome with concern.

"Are you sure? You look so pale. Shit, I knew it. I _knew_ I shouldn't have—"

"I'm fine," she said again. "I'm not going to break, you know."

"That's not the point."

"I am not going to break."

"Why do you keep saying that? Do you feel strange? Is the venom too much? Should I call—"

"I am _not_ going to break."

He hesitated, caving. "But what if you do?" He had never felt more small in his life, and voicing the fear only made it so much worse. He could hear the Seelie Queen in his mind, taunting him, telling him everyone he loved would die at the hand of the Downworld for his daylight.

She grinned cheekily, and it was so Annabeth that it released the ball of tension in his stomach. "It felt good." Her steely grey irises darkened with desire.

He rolled his eyes, more out of relief than anything else. He knew, technically, that it would envelop her in euphoria, and he also knew it was dangerous because it did. And the way she was looking at him did something to his unbeating heart, giving him phantom skips.

"Hey, I have a test next week. Can you maybe—"

"—I'm not biting you again," he declared, but he let out a breath of relief. The wound on her wrist was already starting to close up from his saliva, and his welts were beginning to fade to nothingness. "In fact, as soon as morning comes, I'm dragging you to church." She was much too tired now, drained in more ways than one.

"My mother would be delighted," she mused, and she smiled to herself, curling up further into the couch, but her face quickly shifted to one of seriousness. "Percy, you know that was stupid, right?"

He sighed. "I know." _Besides, you told me well enough._

"Why did you even want to be mortal so bad? Being human is boring, if you don't remember. And you hated school. Now you get to be all cool with your vampire mojo." Her eyes slid shut in exhaustion, but there was a playful smile spreading across her face. She never got an answer, slowly dozing off, and he said nothing.

He waited until her breathing was steady as she slipped into her subconscious. "I didn't want you to leave me," he revealed into the darkness, brushing her hair out of her eyes. _I'm scared to be lonely. I don't want to wake up one day and realize everyone I love is dead._ He went to stand up, maybe go back to the mansion, grab more blood, and come back to be there when she woke up, to check on her. He had thought she had fallen asleep, but Annabeth's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. He froze, startled.

"I know," was all she said, and Percy cursed quietly. He had hoped she hadn't heard him. She weakly pulled him onto the couch as her own personal pillow, and he let her drag him forward.

He was still starving for more blood—he had lost far too much, and he'd need double the amount Annabeth possessed in her whole body to make up for it—but… but she was silently asking him to stay, and the pint or so he'd taken from her would be enough to tide him over for now. She was promising that he wasn't a monster in her eyes. She was quietly pleading for him, whether because she had a tie to his fangs and saliva now, or because she just wanted the Percy she knew to be there, to be alive, to wake up with her and reassure her he was still there, that Drew hadn't killed him completely. He had seen the fear in her eyes when he showed up at her back door, the walking dead. She had really thought he was gone, and she needed closure, wanted to wake up and know she hadn't dreamt he'd come back. Percy understood the irrational fear all too well.

He didn't sleep—his sleep schedule was all fucked up—but he conceded to her touch, going quietly onto the cushions. The room was tranquil, only the low hum of crickets outside breaking the silence.

Her head dropped onto his chest, her fragile frame curling around him, reminding him that she was strong, that she would protect him with everything in her, even if it wasn't much, and he let her warmth seep into him as she slept.

…

Drew peered into his brown eye, his eyebrows furrowed in anger. Adorable. She smiled sweetly. "You've been asleep an awful long time. It made for quite the boring wait."

Ethan scowled. "It's _you_ , you fucking bi—"

"Shhh." A rose vine wrapped around his mouth, scraping him with the thorns until he bled. "None of that here. You're probably wondering why you're here after I kicked you out so long." Cheating bastard. She grinned. "Don't think I didn't know about that little mortal girl of yours. Well—dead girl."

He paled slightly.

"She had such pretty hair too. I've added it to my collection." Drew gestured to the throne's backing behind her. Sure enough, there were strands of blonde hair woven around the vines. The vines hugged the hair tightly, possessively. "But I'm not here to smite you again, though that would certainly be fun. Maybe I'll push it off to next week." She tapped her bottom lip with her glossy nails, thoughtfully. "I'll figure it out. For now, though, I'd like to know more about you, darling." She fluttered her long eyelashes innocently.

Ethan bared his fangs, growling angrily. He struggled against the thick vines, but there was no escape. Around him was a halo of light; if he moved too much, he'd burn himself.

She giggled. "Calm down, hon. I don't resort to _persuasion_ unless you suddenly find yourself mute. I'm not cruel; don't you trust me?"

His eyes darted around for a way out, but it didn't exist.

"What I want to know," she drawled, "is what business you have with hassling the New York vampire clan. You left so long ago, dear; are you really still petty? Dreadful. And those filthy dogs? Those werewolves are running around in circles at the mess you've made." She leaned forward. "Normally, I wouldn't care. Their affairs hardly bother me, you know that, but imagine when I caught wind that one of the Wild Hunt, one of my kind was blamed for all the murders. If they've killed Kronos and taken Octavian imprison, then it won't be too long until they come after me." Not that she'd go save Octavian anyway; he was such a pain in the ass, and she had half a mind to let Nico suffer with his stupidity.

"Good," Ethan spat, though it was muffled.

Drew narrowed her eyes at his outburst, and the light shifted onto his arm.

He wailed, screaming, the smell of burning flesh filling the air as part of his forearm boiled and bubbled under sunlight.

She moved it away once more, giddy. "Perhaps I should've done this from the start—incentive for you to be faithful."

Ethan gasped, trying to catch his breath.

Drew rolled her eyes. "Don't be such a baby, and just fess up, and this'll go so much easier for you."

He pressed his lips together, contemplating it, and then he broke. He'd always been a traitor, through and through, and it didn't take much for him to crack. "Fine," he conceded. "I'm responsible for your precious Daylighter."

She grinned. " _Now_ we're getting somewhere. How did you turn him?"

He hesitated, but one glare from her, and he began talking once more. "Angel blood."

"I knew it!" She beamed, enthralled. "How?"

His jaw tensed in guilt.

"Oh. Oh dear. You're certainly going to Hell, aren't you? Which one?"

"She's not an archangel."

"And why Perseus?"

Ethan shrugged. "It didn't matter who, so long as it couldn't be pointed back to any certain point."

"Smart."

"I always was."

She smirked. "No—it's _too_ smart, sweetcheeks. Who appointed you?"

He glared at the ground, gritting his teeth together. "I won't."

"Of course you won't. So this is when you choose to put your foot down and be loyal? Shame—you were doing so well. You realize if you don't speak, you'll die, and this exposed information will all be for naught?"

He flinched. He knew it just as well as she did.

"Are you sure you don't want to speak?" she mocked.

"I'll do anything," he pleaded. "Anything other than that. Please, Your Highness. Anything."

"I don't want anything; I want a name. I have whatever I want." Her eyes glittered. "You relinquished your right to mercy from the moment you were born, darling."

His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as she left her throne, circling around him, inspecting him with morbid fascination. Her thorns pricked into him, drawing some of his blood out. Vampire blood was simply too valuable to waste.

"Then I shall die a sinner, I suppose," he guessed, his eyes flickering to the floor.

"Do look at me," she encouraged. "I like it when they beg."

He opened his mouth to say something, his irises desperate for mercy, but Drew had always known mercy didn't exist. Then he was gone, his ashes swirling in the air as the sunlight beat down on him, burning him into a crisp as he rejoined Edom once more. His screams rang through her court, bouncing off the bark satisfyingly. Drew watched with a tiny smile on her face. When he vanished entirely, nothing left but the vines that had once chained him, she slowly approached the flowers. They had obediently drawn some of his blood, and they were redder than normal.

Drew caressed one of the petals, and her fingers drew away with the crimson. She gently dabbed some of his blood across her lips, painting them with the ruby from his veins. She had always adored vampire blood the best; human blooded tended to dry brown on her lips, and it wasn't nearly as pretty.

…

When Percy woke, he was more than surprised to find a once hostile blonde in his arms. For a moment, he mistook her for Calypso. Then he realized her hair was just a little lighter, and she was tanner from spending her summers back in California, and, most notably, she was _warm._ She had body heat, and it was a joy to feel wrapped around him. The cold didn't bother vampires, but that didn't mean warm, fuzzy people weren't comforting, and it wasn't like he'd be able to hug his mom anytime soon.

Percy sat up quickly at the realization. He had to go visit his mother tonight. What was he going to tell her? And Paul? Estelle? Poor little Estelle would surely realize something was wrong when he refused to pick her up. Or when he refused to eat Sally's infamous cerulean cookies.

"Percy?" Annabeth mumbled, dazed and exhausted. He had probably woken her with his sudden movement.

"Sorry," he murmured. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." He gently pushed her back down into the pillows and cushions, sympathetic. She needed much more sleep than he did, and it made him guilty.

She peered up at him through half-lidded eyes, the morning sun streaming around her. It illuminated her hair, and it draped around the crown of her head on the pillow like a halo. "What time is it?" she whispered, blinking the tiredness out of her eyes.

He glanced at the clock all the way in the other room, his perfect vision coming in handy. "About nine." His own words surprised him; he couldn't remember the last time he slept this long or soundly. He stared at Annabeth. She was the only thing that had changed in his sleeping habits. Gently, he untangled his limbs from hers. Even in his sleep, he seemed to gravitate toward her. It was mortifying.

"Shit," she muttered. "Do you hear my mother?"

"I'm not your lookout." But he listened anyway, and there was silence. "No."

She cursed again. "That means she probably went to get my brothers."

"So?" He failed to see the problem.

She stared at him like he was stupid. "That means she probably saw us. That means I'm getting a talk later."

Oh. He cringed. "Good luck."

She rolled her eyes, flopping back on the bed. "And all because you're a dumbass who doesn't know how to take care of yourself."

He ignored her snippy attitude. She'd never been a morning person. "How are you feeling?" The incriminating memories came back to him in vivid color: him sinking his fangs into her _finally_ , the virtue of patience finally coming to an end; her quiet gasps as she went limp under him, soft, and pliant, and warm; her stray hairs brushing across his skin as she leaned against him in silent defeat; the heady mix of drinking her blood and hearing her cry out in both pleasure and pain.

She studied his face. "As excellent as one can this early in the morning."

He embarrassedly looked away, feeling guilty for thinking so carnally of someone who was supposed to be his friend, of someone who had saved his life. If the angels weren't already damning him for being one of Night's children, then they were certainly damning him now.

She loaned him a toothbrush, and then she took a shower. That only made it worse, the scent of her blood wafting through the air. When they were all done, he made her coffee. It was surreal to sit at her kitchen counter and just watch her eat like a normal person.

"I better get going," he realized as she finished up. He didn't want to be here when Annabeth's step-mother came home, especially not if she was going to yell at them both about being safe or something much more humiliating. It didn't help that her hair was all frizzy from contact or that his shirt was mussed up from pressing against her during the night.

Her fingers found the small of his back, and she sat up straighter, looking at him in concern. "Where are you going?"

He fought a shiver at her intoxicating touch. "I've got to head back to the mansion actually."

She eyed him curiously. "More blood?"

He nodded, watching out of the corner of his eye as she put the stray mug in the sink and laced up her combat boots. She searched for a thin jacket, the spring morning still chilly.

"And where are you going?"

"With you."

He blinked. "No, no you're not."

"Why not?"

 _"Why not?"_ he echoed. "Because it's a house of bloodsucking creatures. I'm _not_ taking you there."

"It's not like I'm going inside. I'll just walk you there."

"But why?" he sputtered.

Annabeth glared at him. "Because apparently you can't be trusted to take care of yourself. Besides, I needed to get out anyway."

He raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"We're low on milk." She slipped her phone into her shoes and waltzed out the front door, and that was that because she made it so. Percy knew there was no point in arguing with her when she'd made up her mind, and he only scowled before following.

…

Annabeth told him about all sorts of stuff as they walked: jokes he didn't understand from not hanging out with their friend group anymore, her mother's latest haul of seventeen Bibles that Annabeth could only hope she was going to donate to the church and not keep for herself like a crazy lady, her brothers' recent shenanigans, that her dad was coming home in two days from San Francisco.

He listened attentively, but he couldn't help but paranoidly survey every street. He didn't care if it was broad daylight; there was no way in hell he would allow anyone to catch Annabeth off guard like that vampire had the other night.

"You know, if you really need blood, you can have more of mine."

 _Withdrawal symptoms—you should be so proud_ , his subconscious taunted him. He pursed his lips, stopping the middle of the street. People flowed around him, but he didn't move, even at their protests that he was blocking up the sidewalk.

"Percy?" Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"I change my mind. We're taking a detour first." He grabbed her arm and practically dragged her behind him, until she yanked her arm from his grasp.

"Where?"

He shook his head. "I think you know where."

"No, please don't make me drink the stupid water again. It's disgusting." Cathedral bells chimed in time with the hourly change somewhere in the distance. "Percy," she snapped, crossing her arms and ceasing to walk.

He whirled around. "What?"

"I refuse. I don't want to drink it. It burns, and I hate it."

"Yeah, well, too bad because you're drinking it."

She scoffed. "I'm not moving one more step toward that church. I won't."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Ridiculous? It burns. You would know."

He flinched at the small jab. She was probably only lashing out at his previous admission. "It's supposed to burn!"

"I don't care. I'm not doing it."

Percy clenched his jaw. "Don't make me force you."

She laughed harshly. "You wouldn't dare." Her eyes glinted with challenge, and she tipped her head to one side to peer up at him. It exposed the delicate flesh and veins of her neck, pulsing in temptation.

There was a beat of silence as they faced off at each other, and then he swooped down and picked her up, haphazardly throwing her over his shoulder.

She let out a surprised half-scream as the floor went out from under her, and she flailed wildly. She thrashed, successfully thwacking him a few times, but he didn't budge. Her hits were like mildly annoying feathers in his new immortal shell. "Perseus, put me down!"

"Are you going to walk?" He couldn't keep the patronization out of his voice, and she smacked him again for it. People were looking, but he couldn't find it within him to care. Annabeth, however, was built off pride, and the judgmental stares were sure to make her cave. He knew exactly where to hit her to make it hurt.

"Fine! Fine, I'll walk."

He put her down, and the second her toes touched the ground, she spun on her heels and slapped him across his face like in the dramatic soap operas.

Percy slowly blinked. "I deserve that." He nodded, even if his cheek didn't sting at all.

"Yes, yes you do," she said furiously. "You don't manhandle me like I'm five!"

"Well, I do if you're acting like a kid," he bit back. He probably should've been more angry, but something about the way they were arguing reminded him of how they used to bicker when they were twelve. Endlessly. Irritatingly. Forever. And she was still here, snapping at him just as much as he snapped at her, and it was the same. (Including the teeny, tiny fact that he might've been slightly obsessed with her again. Oh, joy).

"I'm old enough to make my own decisions, and if that means burning in hell, then so be it." Her voice was bitter. She sniffed and made her way to the cathedral, albeit reluctantly.

Percy didn't complain. She was still going to drink the sour water, and, for the first time in almost seventeen years, he'd won.

…

Annabeth sat in the grass, looking queasy as she downed more holy water.

Feeling responsible for her current state, Percy tried to make conversation. "Will you come with me to my mom's place this evening?"

She pursed her lips. "Why?"

"She called me over for dinner. I don't know how to say no, not to her."

"Or tell her you can't even eat it."

"That too."

She sighed. "Fine, but only because I like your mom. Don't think that means I'm forgiving you for _this_ monstrosity." She tapped her nails against the plastic cup.

He smiled shyly. "I wouldn't dream of it."

…

"Come on, Seaweed Brain. Hurry up."

"I'm literally going slow for you," Percy pointed out.

She rolled her eyes, jogging a little faster. "I have to be back home before my mother gets home, or she'll begin the interrogation even harsher."

"Do you want me to get you the milk? It'll take like five seconds."

"No," she breathed, running faster. "I got this."

They stopped in front of the foreboding mansion. "This is me," said Percy.

She scanned it. "Well, it's pretty. Very gothic Victorian, though."

He grinned. "Silena will kill you if you insult her decorative taste."

"You'd probably kill her first."

"That's true." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. It was strange to concede how many people he would let die for her. "You know that, right?" Percy licked his lips, suddenly feeling warm and uncomfortable. "You know you can call anytime, and I'd come running? Just because… just because my home has shifted and the people I hang around doesn't mean I won't be there for you whenever you want me to."

Annabeth's expression softened fractionally. "I know, Perce. Thank you."

"And be safe," he said. He couldn't make himself stop talking, even if he really wanted to. He was probably wasting her time, and she had said so herself that she needed to go home soon. "Don't… don't let any stupid creatures corner you. Just tell them the Daylighter will perform voodoo on them and run, just… just scream, and I'll be there. I'll hear you. I swear I will." He gnawed his bottom lip anxiously.

"I don't need you to save the day."

He couldn't read her expression, and that only unnerved him more. "You're not wearing the cross anymore. You don't carry weapons, obviously."

"I didn't want to burn you."

Oh. "Thank you." He was touched.

"My mother will probably give me a new one, though, but I'll take it off. Don't worry about it. Besides, I don't need weapons. I'm resourceful," Annabeth said, using his own words against him. She smiled slightly, and it warmed him to the bone.

"I know," he whispered, but he couldn't help but worry. He would always, _always_ worry about her, he suspected. They were quiet, and then he heard the slightest shift of noise behind him, one Annabeth probably didn't. He turned, and standing in the dark doorway was Calypso with wide eyes. "Callie?"

"Percy?" She gaped. "Where did you go?" she demanded, relief washing over her face.

He winced. He _had_ disappeared for over twenty-four hours. "I'll explain later," he promised, slowly approaching the front porch since she couldn't walk out into the light. Calypso enveloped him in a tight hug, and he squeezed her, finding comfort in her familiarity. "I'm so sorry."

"Nico was looking for you. They solved it." She pulled away, surveying him for injuries that no longer existed.

His jaw dropped open. "The murders?"

She nodded discreetly, pointedly glancing at Annabeth like _I'll tell you later._

Annabeth scowled at the gesture. "You didn't even look for him." She frowned at Calypso.

Percy was horrified. "Annabeth!"

Calypso stiffened. "I could only look in the night, Annabelle."

"Annabeth," he corrected under his breath, ashamed of both of their rudeness. Granted, Annabeth had started it.

"Annabeth," Calypso sighed, complying easily. Perhaps it was because she was older and more tolerant of rudeness, accustomed to comparative immaturity with all the years under her belt.

"He looked like hell," Annabeth informed her. "Why didn't anybody look after him? Why did you let him leave on his own? Didn't you know he would do something stupid? Didn't you know he always puts himself in stupid amounts of danger for the people he loves? No, of course you didn't. He nearly died, you know. Of course you didn't know because you don't know him at all. You guys just keep him away from his mortal family and friends because you're selfish, and you don't even _know_ how much it hurts him."

Calypso's face hardened.

"That's enough, Annabeth," Percy muttered.

"No," she argued, not quite finished. "Grover _misses_ you; Jason misses you; Piper misses you. And I can't even tell them why. You won't even visit. You're stuck here in this place that is far too dark for you." She was nearly pleading now, and it broke his heart. "The first time I see you in ages is when you're dying in my arms. They keep you in this mansion and far, far away from us."

He felt Calypso's eyes on him too. "I like the mansion," he said finally, quietly, and it wasn't a lie. Calypso was a good not-really-girlfriend, Nico was a good sire, and the rest didn't really like him too much, but it didn't matter because both the head and his second in command did. It was surprising to admit out loud, but even if he missed his family and friends, he _did_ like his new friends too. Thalia was a hoot, and Will was kind, even if he was a little eccentric.

She drew back like he'd slapped her. "Oh," she said, her voice suddenly cold. "I have to go."

"Annabeth." He sighed. "Don't be like that. It's just different now. You have to understand."

"I don't _have_ to do anything." She didn't meet his gaze, pained. "And I have to go regardless. My _family's_ expecting me," she whispered in anguish, and she turned her back, practically fleeing off the property to the supermarket.

"Annabeth!" He nearly ran after her, but he felt Calypso's hand fall to his shoulder, and he slumped in defeat. "How did I mess things up so bad?"

Her almond eyes were warm and sympathetic. "It's not you, Perce," she promised.

"I'm sorry," he said, apologizing for Annabeth's behavior. "She's not normally like that."

Calypso waved it away dismissively, pulling him into the house and shutting the door behind him. "Humans don't understand, Percy. They don't think about the fact that it's a blessing to spend eternity here. They forget that when they're gone, you'll only have us, that it would be painful for you to shut us out and only spend time with them, only for them to leave you in eighty or so years, and then have you be lonely. Annabeth's anger will fade with time, and then it'll just be us, the vampires of forever."

His stomach dropped at her words, the sinking feeling overtaking him. Even _imagining_ his family or friends dying was enough to make him feel ill.

"Tell me about the murders," Percy said instead, sitting down at the dining table. She grabbed him some blood, rightfully guessing his overwhelming hunger.

"No," Calypso said, her eyes shining in worry. Her hand cupped his cheek, tilting his face up to meet hers. "I think we'll start with you first."

…

"So you went to Faerieland, the people _behind_ the murders and however you got your Daylighter abilities, though we still need to confirm that out of Octavian, and then you made a _deal_ with the Seelie Queen?"

Every word lashed across Percy's pride. "Yes," he said, meekly.

Nico squeezed his eyes shut. "She _should've_ killed you," he spat acidly.

He ducked his head in shame. "I'm sorry, Nico."

"It doesn't matter," he growled. "We _purposefully_ don't fraternize with their kind _because_ of shit like this, and now I have to prosecute her for a million more things. Don't you realize how shady this looks? Don't you realize that you could've died, and your powers would've left with you? Don't you realize you're our _only_ chance of a lifetime to figure out how to grant Daylighter abilities to all of us, so that we can finally be free, so we can finally live like normal people again?" Nico raked his fingers through his dark hair, and it made Percy stressed just looking at _his_ stress.

Percy frowned. "To be fair, you weren't entirely honest with me either."

"Humor me," Nico drawled, crossing his arms over his chest and looming over him.

Percy bit the inside of his cheek. "Drew told me I can bring back the dead. It's true, isn't it? And you didn't tell me. You _kept_ it from me, which only makes it so much more dangerous."

Nico pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's because you're young, and stupid, and I know you'd do something reckless with it if you knew."

"I wouldn't have if you told me not to," Percy said frustratedly.

"Oh, yeah?" Nico retorted, every word dripping with heavy sarcasm. "Calypso told you to stay the fuck away from the fey, Thalia told you, _I_ told you, and did you follow directions then? No, you ran to the Queen's ass to make you mortal," he seethed. "How could you be so selfish?"

He flinched. Technically, what he was saying was spot on. "I know," he acknowledged. "I just… I miss it, that's all. I'm sorry. Truly."

He cursed in a language Percy didn't understand, and he shut his eyes. After a few minutes, he opened them again, significantly calmed down. "That was stupid, reckless, immature, and I'm very angry with you. I won't, however, punish you this time, only because you're still learning _and_ because Calypso begged me to go easy on you." His dark eyes sparkled, seemingly black in the darkness of the mansion. "You better go kiss her feet for it later, or you'd be as good as dead right now, Jackson." He pointed a stern finger to the door. "Get out of my face; I don't want to see you right now."

Percy scrambled to his feet, practically sprinting out the door. He softly shut it behind him, leaning against a nearby wall in sheer relief. If _that_ was easy, he really didn't want to know what the alternative would be. Nico was right—he'd have to grovel at Calypso's feet later with promises and gratitude for saving him yet again.

"Nico!" There was a scream, unmistakably Calypso's. She barely glanced at him before storming through the door to the head. "Nico, we have an issue." She shut the door behind her, but Percy couldn't help but eavesdrop, curious.

"What's going on?" Nico's whisper was muffled slightly by the walls.

"There's been another murder. Brooklyn."

"What are you talking about? Octavian… it's supposed to be Kronos."

"It can't be." It might've been Percy's imagination, but Calypso sounded too panicked, enough that it was freaking even _him_ out. "I didn't tell anyone else. I don't want the clan to panic. What do we do? What do we _do?_ Sir, they're going to _hang_ us."

"Calm down, Callie. They won't hang us."

"I'm trying." It sounded like she was fighting tears. "But we've never faced something like this before. I don't know what to do. I don't know if the Seelie Queen's still behind it, but the warlocks are approaching her later tonight. We need to stop them; we need to figure this out; we're going to die. I can't die. I don't want to go to Edom. Nico, what are we going to do?"

Percy felt vaguely nauseous, her tears making his eyes prick painfully. But more than her contagious fright was deep-rooted knowing.

 _Angel,_ he said in his mind, hoping she was listening. _Who is it? Who's behind this? What's going on?_

There was no answer. He slumped against the sight of the wall, his brain going a mile a minute. Tomorrow, he decided. Nico could kill him after if he wanted, but tomorrow he would find the angel and save her. Perhaps she would show him more of where she was, and he'd be able to find her. He would save her, and he would figure out who was framing the murders on the fey and on the vampires.

For now, though, he reached for his phone. He didn't care if Annabeth was mad at him. If the murders were still happening, and even if she was back in her house, he needed to make sure. He needed to tell her not to leave her house, needed to hear her voice and know she was okay.

He listened to the phone ring.

"What do you want?" she snapped, picking up on the second ring.

He slumped with relief against the wall, uncaring if she was angry or not. "You're okay."

"Of course I'm okay. It's not like I pass out every time you leave me for more than five minutes. I have a life, you know—"

"—no," he cut her off, clutching the phone tightly to his ear. "No, that's not why. I just… I love you," he said instead. It had always been true. He loved her, loved the rest of his friends, but he was sure it sounded odd coming out of nowhere.

"Are you high?" she said after a stunned silence. "Percy?"

"No," he said, his voice thick. He didn't want to tell her about the murders, not yet, or the angel, or anything else. He just wanted to listen to the sound of her voice and relish that she was alive and safe. "Are you at home?"

"Yes." He heard water run in the background. "But you can't come over. My mother grounded me for the rest of the day for… well, you know what. Except for dinner with your mom, since I already made that commitment, and she doesn't want me to be rude to Mrs. Jackson."

If she was grounded, then she wouldn't leave the house until later when he went to pick her up. Perfect. "Tell your mother she's amazing," he said, and he hung up before she could, his worries dissipating just like that.

Well, some of them.

Nico opened the door, looking dazed. He blinked down at Percy on the floor. "Get up," he demanded, but it lacked the usual harshness.

Percy clambered to his feet, caught off guard.

"You had dreams about an angel, and you didn't tell me, even though angels are affiliated with heaven and daylight and _everything_ we didn't understand about you yet?" Nico's voice was terrifyingly soft.

Percy nodded quickly.

He pointed back into the room, his mouth pressed in an angry, grim line, and Percy knew no amount of Calypso's begging was going to save him from Nico's wrath this time.


	7. Chapter 7

Percy was throwing up for the second time as Calypso walked out of the back mansion door. She had a jug of blood in her hands, and her fingers were soothing and cool to the touch as she tipped his head back to drink more fluids.

"It hurts," he groaned, drinking obediently. He had lost a lot of blood.

"You had it coming, kiddo," she murmured, but she was sympathetic, and he was grateful for her kindness. "And he had to get creative since you can't burn in sunlight."

"But silver, really?" He angrily drank the blood, only feeling a little bit like a kid throwing a tantrum.

"When you're complaining, you're not feeding. Aren't you going to your mother's soon?"

Percy's skin prickled at the reminder. "What time is it?" He grabbed some water and rinsed out his mouth, careful not to swallow it and poison himself further.

"Six-thirty."

"Shit." He spit out the water.

"What time do you have to be there?"

"Seven. I'm already late." He panicked.

Calypso rolled her eyes. "You can be there in five seconds."

He shrunk in embarrassment at the reminder. "Oh, right." He held his hands out as she rinsed off the blood all over his hands and silver. The water stung where the cross had burned him. Nico getting creative freaking sucked. "Do you, by any chance, have makeup?"

"Sure. You want concealer?" She eyed his fresh burns critically.

"My mom will hound me otherwise."

"I got you." She nodded, disappearing and returning in a second with nothing more than a whizz of air. "Hold still," she said as she tried to cover up his pale skin.

He winced, but he didn't say anything as she worked, trying not to squirm too much. Once she'd donned him in fresh paint, he rinsed out his bloody teeth and mouth one last time until he was clean and changed his shirt before disappearing toward the Chase residency.

...

"Did you get it?"

Annabeth threw the green long sleeve shirt from Jason's house at Percy's head. "You're lucky Jason still has some of your stuff." She paused, thinking. "By the way, you're not allowed to come over anymore, not unless my mother's home."

"She _was_ home. She was upstairs sleeping."

Annabeth shot him a withering glare, and he dropped it.

"Fine," Percy agreed hastily, shimmying out of the black tshirt and into his own clothes. Sally would've been so suspicious if he was dressed in all black.

She was probably already going to notice the fact that he was paler and overall prettier and not eating her food. Mostly the not eating thing. He still hadn't come up with a lie for that yet. With that thought, he tugged his sleeve down over his wrists, hoping that would keep her from feeling his pulse. But then there was also the fact that she was also a big hugger.

"Hey, come hug me."

She turned around from where she'd been facing the wall as he dressed and flushed dark pink. _"What?"_

"No, it's not weird!" Percy defended, immediately mortified. He could only imagine how stupid that sounded out of context, and where her mind was instinctively going. "I need to know if I can feel a heartbeat when I hug."

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, but she awkwardly put her arms around him.

They were quiet for a moment, and Percy was very aware of how soft and warm she was under him, which _really_ didn't help with the fact that she was pretty and smart and now she was _hugging_ him. He tried to focus.

"This isn't working," he said after a moment. "I can always hear your heartbeat, so it's irrelevant if I feel it or not."

Annabeth pulled away, slightly embarrassed, but mostly curious. "Always?"

He tapped his ears, now blessed with super hearing. "Always," he confirmed. Her heartbeat was one of the greatest sounds in the world, though he'd never say so out loud. "Can you go hug your brother?"

"Percy!" she snapped. "She's not going to feel it."

"Are you sure?"

"Don't make me regret this."

"Fine," he said, still worrying despite her words. "Let's just go."

"Mother, we're leaving!" Annabeth called out, hastily reaching for the door. Percy understood all at once. If her mother saw him, he was sure to be lectured too for that morning. He quickly swung it open, and he almost made it out when a little boy appeared in the doorway.

He had curly dark hair and dark brown eyes. He grinned mischievously. "Where are you going?" he asked smugly.

"To Mrs. Jackson's house," Annabeth snipped, not taking the bait.

Another boy appeared, identical to the first. He was smiling sweetly, _deviously_ , and Percy blinked. Technically, he knew Annabeth's twin brothers were the exact same, haircut and smile and all, but it didn't mean it didn't still freak him out every time he saw them.

"Is he your boyfriend?" the second boy asked, pointing a skinny arm at Percy, who cringed. It was like the universe hated him or something and insisted on turning everything with Annabeth into pure torture.

"No," Annabeth reprimanded, seemingly unbothered. Percy wasn't sure if that was good or bad. "And Matthew, what did we say about asking inappropriate, intrusive questions?"

Matthew pouted at being scolded.

Percy hid a smile. If that was a rule, then he must've asked some pretty wild things in the past to induce that. "What else did he ask?"

Annabeth quietly looked at him with a mouth straight as a ruler. "He asked our great grandmother when she was going to meet God."

Percy nearly choked as she waltzed out the door.

...

It'd been an argument just to get to his mother's house. First, Percy had insisted that he pick her up and almost _magically_ appear on Sally Jackson's doorstep in like five seconds. Annabeth had argued that after he practically dragged her to the church in the morning, he didn't get to touch her anymore. They ended up walking because he wasn't about to argue with her when she was doing him a favor. (And also because it was Annabeth, and sue him for being a little intimidated).

He rang the doorbell nervously. This was the first time he was going to see her in a week after just up and leaving with no explanation other than "my friend needed help." It was safe to say he was a wreck. There was shrieking on the other side of the door, the familiar chaos that was baby Estelle. He tapped his foot nervously, and Annabeth squeezed his shoulder to stop him from freaking out.

Paul swung the door open, greeting them both with a bright smile. It was still weird for Annabeth, Percy guessed, considering Paul taught at their high school, but to him, he was only a sight for sore eyes.

"Percy." He beamed. His dark hair was beginning to grey, probably both from Estelle and pure old age, but he was as cheerful as ever.

"Paul."

"Annabeth." He offered an equally kind smile toward the blonde.

She didn't balk at the strangeness of seeing a teacher out of school, especially one that was married to someone else she knew. "Mr. Blofis," she said charmingly, and she stepped into the house, leaving her shoes neatly by the door.

The scent of Sally's cookies wafted through the air, chocolatey and delicious. Percy's mouth watered, and he hated that he wouldn't be able to eat them.

At least walking at a human pace had given him lots of time to brainstorm excuses. None were anything short of humiliating and ridiculous. Trying to lose weight? What a fat lie. Percy had an incredible metabolism from swimming, and he ate trash during midterm season anyway when Annabeth holed him up in his room to study. Sally wouldn't buy a word of it. He hated sugar? He himself couldn't even believe that one. Percy ate sugar like a kid in a candy store. He was made of sugar at this point. Not hungry? Blasphemy. Percy was always hungry, especially when he had the option to eat and binge TV over doing actual work.

He'd even tried Googling ideas, but half of the links took him to people disgusted by the quality of food (which could never happen with Sally's cooking because it was actual _heaven_ ) or struggling with disorders, thankfully neither of which he could relate with.

"Is that Percy?" Sally called over the beeping timers in the kitchen. Paul excused himself to go help Estelle, who was blissfully slobbering baby food all over herself.

Sally came through the kitchen door only moments later, and she nearly melted with relief when she saw her son. "Percy, where on earth have you been?" she chastised. She reached forward to hug him—the moment of truth. He tried to remember to look like he was breathing as he allowed her to smother him in a hug. "Oh god, you're so cold!"

"Um…"

"It was freezing in my house," Annabeth interrupted, coming to his rescue. "The air conditioner broke a couple days ago, and it's just an ice bucket there."

"That's awful," Sally sympathized.

"At least it's summer, and at least it didn't break as in it stopped working altogether," Annabeth assured, accepting a hug as well.

Percy felt some of the anxiety loosen in his chest. She was a quick thinker; they were going to be just fine. Hopefully.

Sally laughed at that. "Right as always."

Annabeth beamed at the praise.

"I hope you're both hungry. I made your favorite, Annabeth—noodles." She smiled kindly.

The blonde's eyes lit up at Sally's thoughtfulness, and Percy smothered a smile: her excitement was contagious.

"Starving," Annabeth agreed, grinning childishly. Her eyes flickered to Percy, and he practically saw the gears turning a mile a minute. "Percy's been sick for a couple days though, so I don't know if he'll want to eat."

 _You're a genius._ How was it that she came up with what he'd been tossing and turning over in the span of a couple seconds?

"Oh dear." Sally reached out to cup his face, but he awkwardly stumbled back. She frowned. "Won't you eat at all?"

"I don't think so," he admitted. "I might feel too sick then, but I wanted to come anyway. I missed you." That much, at least, was the truth.

Sally's features flickered in concern. "Alright. I'll just get you some water." She disappeared into the kitchen.

Percy cursed. "I can't drink water," he said, turning to Annabeth. "What am I doing to do?"

They were interrupted by Sally's return. "There you are," she said, handing him a blue glass. He smiled wanly. "Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes," she told Annabeth, and Estelle started wailing as another timer went off, so she excused herself.

"Calm down, you baby." Annabeth grabbed the glass. It was opaque, thankfully. Her eyes darted around the room, spotting a potted plant near the window. She poured half of it into the pot.

"Only half?"

"She'll only refill it if you finished it." Annabeth handed it back to him. "Just sip at nothing once or twice and quit worrying. You look like you're about to have a heart attack."

"I don't _have_ a heart," he hissed. "This was such a ba—"

"Annabeth!" Sally called from the dining room.

"Coming!" She spun to Percy, glaring at him sternly. "Then just tell her. She's not going to hate you."

"I can't! And you don't know that."

"Then do what I said and keep it together, or you're going to get a lot of questions." She turned, her hair swishing in his face as she breezed past him.

...

"So, Percy, how's Grover doing?"

"He's okay," Percy mumbled, meeting his mother's eyes.

"And school?" Sally passed the chili flakes to Annabeth. Estelle happily rattled a salt shaker like a toy until Paul gently put it back down.

"Um." There was no point saying he went because even if Paul wasn't his teacher anymore, he probably knew he hadn't been attending. "Same as always. Boring."

"Boring? Don't you have finals soon?" Sally arched an eyebrow. It was clear she knew he hadn't gone. Paul had probably ratted him out. Actually—Sally had probably interrogated him, and then he'd ratted him out. Paul shot him a sympathetic glance before suddenly finding great interest in his own plate of noodles.

 _Say something,_ Annabeth mouthed. He swallowed thickly. Right.

"Yeah. That only makes it more boring. They won't stop lecturing us about grades and the importance of the SAT and a million other things." He was frightened, really, by how well he could lie now. He still sounded like himself—sarcastic and slightly tired.

Sally wasn't amused. "Funny you should say that, considering you haven't gone to school in the past five days."

He sighed.

"Not going to deny it?"

"Why bother?" he said, and it sounded more bitter than he intended.

Sally's mouth pressed into a thin line. She was a fairly easy going mom, and he loved her to death, but she had always taken school seriously. He supposed he understood. She had never been able to finish college due to her parents, and thus she'd never gotten to achieve her dreams until Paul came around and Gabe was out of their life. She put emphasis on it because she just wanted him to have a good life. He got that, okay? He wasn't stupid. And he loved her for it. But this really wasn't the time.

"Percy, what's really going on?" She sounded exasperated. Paul took Estelle, excusing himself to go clean up Estelle, who had finally just gone for it, putting food all over her face and down her shirt and in her hair.

Annabeth picked at the noodles. She couldn't help him with this part.

"Nothing, Mom. I swear. I just had to help Grover, and now it's all good."

"So you're going back to school on Monday?" She pursed her lips.

 _No, I'm never going back._ "I hate school."

"That's not an excuse, Percy."

"I'm just going to get a swim scholarship anyway."

"Percy, you know how I feel about school. You don't have to be great, but you do have to try, and you're not even trying anymore. You're skipping school, you won't eat my food, you're lying straight to my face, and you're never home. What's going on? Are you hanging out with the wrong people? Is there anything I can—"

"No, Mom," he interrupted. "No, it's fine."

"It's not fine." Her bottom lip wobbled. "You're so pale. What's happened to you? Did someone hurt you?"

He felt the guilt weigh on him like an elephant. "Nobody hurt me."

"Annabeth," Sally begged. "Can't you reason with him?"

Annabeth gnawed on her bottom lip until it bled. That only made him feel worse. He didn't have the urge to lap it up anymore, not now when his mom was so concerned. Annabeth shook her head almost imperceptibly.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he said, coming to her rescue. She saved him, and he saved her. That was how it worked. "I'm so sorry you were so worried, and I'm sorry I haven't been around, that I haven't been a good son, but it's going to be fine in the end. I swear I'll make it right."

She reached out to hold his hand comfortingly, and he forgot to move back, so accustomed to her touch. All the color drained from her face. "Percy... Percy you're cold as ice." Her fork clattered to the plate, and she jerked her hand away in surprise.

"No, Mom, don't—"

She reached for his pulse, only it didn't exist.

Percy jolted out of his chair, backing up.

"Who are you, and what have you done with my son?" she demanded, picking up her fork and knife defensively.

Percy thought he was going to be sick. She was seeing him for what he was: a monster.

"No, Mrs. Jackson!" Annabeth threw herself in front of him, desperate. "He's still Percy. Please."

"Get away from it, Annabeth," Sally's voice shook. "That's not Percy. I would know him anywhere."

"Mom," Percy pleaded.

"No—you're not my son. My son wouldn't be like this!" The knife shook in her fist.

"You're right," he agreed finally.

"Percy!" Annabeth gaped.

"This is all just a dream," he said, and he wasn't sure what possessed him to say it, but there was this innate urge inside of him to talk his way through it. His voice was heavy and soothing like thick syrup, changing to something more ancient. "Percy actually moved out a couple weeks ago because he got into college out of state early for swimming, and you just miss him."

Sally's blue eyes glazed over. "Yes... yes he moved out. I miss him."

"It's just a nightmare." Percy eased her onto the couch. "Go back to sleep. It'll all be okay when you wake up. He's doing well."

"Yes. My baby Percy is well."

"You can call him anytime."

"I can call him anytime."

"He'll always pick up for you. Always."

"Always," she echoed.

"Sleep."

She drifted off on the couch, her hair falling across her fatigued face. Percy gently brushed the strands out of her eyes, planting a swift kiss on her crumpled forehead—complete with the worry lines of raising a hell raiser like him.

Behind him, Annabeth's eyes were droopy too from the effect. He squeezed her arm. "Wake up," he hissed, and her eyes shot wide open, suddenly fine.

"What did you do?" she demanded.

"I have no idea," he admitted, suddenly terrified of himself. He'd have to ask Calypso later. "Let's just get the hell out of here in case she wakes up and realizes I'm lying."

Annabeth squared her shoulders, suddenly all business, and practically pushed him out the door before following.

Outside, the sun was beginning to set. There was a new weight to his shoulders. Now he could never see Sally again, not unless he wanted to come clean. It had gone better than he'd expected in that she didn't find out, not really. And it had gone far, far worse too. Percy's throat felt tight. Calypso had been right—it only hurt so much more to see them and not let them know, for them to love you and not be able to be the person they remembered. He felt his eyes burn with tears as he took her back home. He'd have to tell her eventually. He couldn't do this forever. He couldn't go without her. He was shaking so hard he thought he was having a seizure. _I can't do this._

"Percy?" It was Annabeth. Her hand came to the small of his back. He'd stopped walking. "Are you okay?"

Suddenly, he felt like he couldn't breathe, and that was just stupid because he didn't need to breathe anyway, and he felt like such a freak, and this shouldn't have been happening to him. He blinked at the ground—once, twice—and then he just collapsed to the curb.

"Percy!"

He didn't feel any pain where he'd scraped his knee, where he was bleeding blood that was much too red to be normal.

"Oh, Percy," she soothed, sitting quietly next to him as he went over the edge, his emotions hitting their limit. Annabeth just held him, strong for him and all without a trace of judgement, while he sat on the curbside and cried.

...

Percy ripped the sheets off him. He was breathing hard out of instinct. Angelic screams were almost as haunting as the screams that had torn themselves from Annabeth the night Akhlys attacked them both. _Almost_. But enough.

 _"Show me where,"_ he whispered in his mind, reaching for the redhead.

It was an old house, a manor of sorts. There were heavy grey stones for bricks, and it was old like a home that had been in a family's for generations. There was a name on the stone mailbox, one he'd never seen before in his life.

 _"I'm coming,"_ he promised. She didn't reply, only screaming still.

It was then that he took in the surroundings around him. It was warm and cozy, and the ceiling was a pure white. The walls were a beautiful grey, and the comforter was lavender. He blinked. This was not the gothic mansion. This had billowing white curtains, and an ivory bed frame, and shelves upon shelves with an unhealthy amount of books, and seven neatly arranged calculators on a silver desktop. He remembered he had been appalled to learn she collected calculators for fucking _enjoyment_ like some kind of sociopath, and—

Terror seized him, terror of the realization that this was _not_ the mansion—this was Annabeth's room. The heartbeat pounded in his head, just barely louder than the angel's screaming, and he peeked to his left. Annabeth was soundly asleep in her bed, her hair strewn over the pillow. He must've been so distressed that she just took him in. He should've fought her. The memories flooded back to him in a surge of a wave:

_"Do you want to stay the night?" Annabeth's grey eyes were wide, sharing his pain, shouldering it like a soldier._

_"You're already in trouble because of me," he said numbly, but a small smile graced her features._

_"You said it yourself: technically, she's just sleeping upstairs."_

He shot up in her bed.

_"No, it's four," she murmured in her sleep. Percy felt her fingers slide into his, comforted by his touch even unconscious._

"Shit," he said aloud. He needed to get out of here. Fast. It was the second time he'd woken up next to her, and it still didn't change the adrenaline rush he got from being near her.

"Percy?" Annabeth rubbed her face, rousing at his startled movements. "Did you have a nightmare?"

"No," he breathed, grabbing his shoes at the foot of her bed. "I need to fix something."

"Now? It's eleven at night." She didn't turn on her bedside lamp, not wanting her parents to know she was awake probably.

His eyes zeroed in on her bedroom door. It was locked. Genius, indeed. "You can call me in the morning."

She squinted at him. "Fine. Hand me a shirt that's not totally embarrassing."

"What?"

"I'm coming with you. Are you dense?"

"No, no you're not." _You could die._

"Percy, last time I let you go, you nearly went and killed yourself. I'm coming."

"It's supernatural business."

"I'll take a kitchen knife. Now hand me a shirt."

He felt sick. "Annabeth, I won't. I don't know how dangerous it will be, and I'm not about to lose you."

"Exactly." She crawled out of her bed to get a shirt by herself since he wasn't complying. "You need me to keep your idiot self alive. Let me help you."

The rest of his protests died on his tongue. There was no stopping her when she got like this. If he denied her, she'd just sneak out after him and put herself in more danger. No—it was better if she was right by his side where he could look out for her.

"Fine," Percy caved. "But if I tell you to run, you'll run."

She stared at him, thinking. "Fine."

"I'm serious, Annabeth."

She sighed. "I promise, Percy."

He eyed her suspiciously before conceding. "Okay." He told her about the angel in his dreams as she changed from PJs, his face to the wall this time.

...

"This is it."

They stood in front of a dark mansion. It was beautiful, and he knew Annabeth could tell him all the features of its architecture just off the top of her head, but she was gripping the kitchen knife tightly.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I can still take you home. You don't have to do this."

"No," she said stubbornly. "I've got your back." She said it so easily, like it was a fact, like it was as true as the sky appearing blue and the grass green, and it only made him fall slowly and slowly deeper into the spell she'd put on him from the moment he first laid eyes on her years ago.

"Stand back. I'm going to break it down."

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "It's an old house, Percy."

"So?"

She rolled her eyes again, took her kitchen knife, and pressed it into the wood. The wood crumbled at the lightest touch. She reached her hand through the hole and turned the door handle from inside. It swung open with a shuddering creak. Her lips twisted sardonically, her hand on her hip. "Quiet and easy. Let's go, superman."

He scowled. "Knocking down doors is cooler," he said petulantly, and he walked in before her to make sure it was safe.

The mansion was warm from the summer heat and decorated with old marble busts and other pretentious objects. It smelled musty. Annabeth hovered over his shoulder, peering around him warily.

He scanned the room easily, his sharp eyesight picking up on the dust lining every shelf and the hollowness of the ceiling above them. It would crumble from the smallest bang. Annabeth had been smart not to let him hit the door, but he didn't dare tell her that, or she'd start gloating. He glanced back. Maybe not; she was pale as a sheet. He squeezed her palm, and she gripped it in terror.

There was another scream, the same as the ones haunting his sleep, and he knew they were in the right place.

"Did you hear that?" he whispered.

Annabeth shook her head.

So it was still internal. "Don't worry about it. It's just the angel," he murmured. He didn't want her to think he was seeing freaky things she wasn't and scare her further. It pierced his ears again, and he was sure it was coming from below. "Do you think there's a basement here?" Perhaps thinking would help calm her nerves.

She analyzed the room and decor. "I bet there's a wine cellar too."

 _A flash of grey blurred behind her red hair. Chains. And stone._ Percy felt his adrenaline rushing as his senses heightened with a little focus. He heard the rush of Annabeth's blood next to him, coursing through her veins, and he tried to smell it. Then it came out of nowhere, just what he'd been searching for—the faint scent of grape.

"Yes," he agreed softly. "You're a genius." He followed the sweet fragrance to another wooden door in the center of the house. He swung it open, and there was a dark staircase leading down, down, down. Annabeth audibly swallowed behind him. "Relax," he whispered. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you. You know that."

"Me?" She shook her head. "You're so stupid, Percy Jackson," she said, and she brushed past him, pulling him down by the wrist after her.

...

"Don't. Move," Percy gritted out.

There was light shining through the entryway of the cellar, and he felt his bond to this girl he had heard screaming for so many nights strengthen in her presence. He was almost afraid to turn the corner, afraid of what he'd see, of what it would be like to be the first to see an angel in Heaven knows how long, of who it could be behind this kidnap of one of Raziel's right hand women. Even Annabeth could hear her screaming now, considering how close they were.

"Who could capture an angel?" Her voice shook. "How is that possible?"

"I have no idea," he admitted, "but we're going to find out." Percy unsheathed his fangs at will, and he turned the corner. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. Another vampire, maybe, just because he was so used to them. A werewolf—he'd never liked them; it was in his blood, after all. This was none of those things. There wasn't even the angel.

There was a bottle of blood—heavenly, _golden_ ichor, and it was screaming, squealing like a tea kettle, almost like it was alive. Standing over it was a boy.

 _"Bryce Lawrence,"_ the angel whispered in his mind.

Percy gaped at him. A warlock, he realized. "How do you have angel blood?"

The boy turned to them, grinning madly. "Our master has acquired it. For you, my boy, for you. For all of us! For the Downworld to dissipate."

Percy moved before he could. In the blink of an eye, he had his fingers around the warlock, pinning him into the wall. The house shuddered as he slammed Bryce into the wall. He tensed. He didn't want it to crash down on them.

Bryce hissed in defiance. "Why are you complaining? You're chosen. You have her blood. You are _lucky_ , and you are ungrateful." Flames shot up from his hands, and Percy jerked back before it could burn him. Bryce smirked at Annabeth. "A mortal? How far you've fallen, _boy_." He set the wood cabinets of wine bottles on fire, but Annabeth swiftly jumped out of the way. He threw fire at Percy, who instinctively ducked. The fire blazed behind him, the manor settling aflame.

"No, you don't," Annabeth spat, and she lunged for him fiercely.

"Get off me, you bitch!" he screamed as she tried to choke him. Annabeth held the kitchen knife to his throat, but he threw her off. The cabinets shattered down on her, and Percy's stomach dropped.

"Don't touch her!" Percy grabbed Bryce's arm, and, with a little concentration, he managed to rip the limb out, and then he beat him with his own dismembered arm. Bryce spat out blood, but the fire was starting to get to Percy. And the house too. Glass shattered around them.

Annabeth rose from the rubble. She snatched up the glass jar of angel blood, and Bryce screamed in pain as Percy beat him bloody.

"Watch out!" she shrieked.

He ducked, but he wasn't fast enough for once. Bryce held a searing hand to his throat, burning him. Percy stumbled back, and Annabeth surged forward, the determination in her irises brighter than any fire. She leapt off a table, using the height to her advantage. Her arm was bleeding from the cabinets, but she was relatively unscathed. She faked to stab him, and Bryce jerked back, and then she threw it at Percy.

Percy caught it, so in sync with her thinking, stabbing Bryce through the heart. He died instantly—he couldn't have been a very powerful warlock, probably born of a lesser demon, if he had been so easy to kill, probably young too—but not before he blew up the place with fire. The smog was thick, and the house shuddered around them. "Did you get the blood?" Percy choked out.

The gold ichor glowed in the fire. Percy heard the manor creak, and he knew, with a cold fear, it was about to come crumbling down.

"Percy..." Annabeth warned, but it was too late.

He threw the knife through the tiny kitchen window, effectively shattering the glass, and scooped her up, holding her tight to his chest. Then he jumped out the window, squeezing his body small to fit through the gap. They crashed into the grass, but Percy barely felt it. Annabeth inhaled desperately, not as fortunate, winded by the fall. She grasped the abandoned knife, but Percy only scrambled to his feet, and he unceremoniously tossed her onto the steep grass hill the manor was built upon. It was a race against time, and her blood roared in his ears, his incentive. _She_ was his incentive. He would make sure she made it out alive and unharmed even if it killed him.

Annabeth tumbled down the incline, gaining speed until she slammed against a hillock with enough force to knock the breath out of her. She sat up, shaking grass out of her hair. A second later, Percy came to a stop next to her; unlike her, he rolled immediately into a crouch, staring up the hill at the manor house.

She turned to look where he was looking, but he'd already grabbed her, shoving her down into the depression between the two hills. She just gasped in surprise as he knocked her down and rolled on top of her, shielding her with his body as a huge roar went up. It sounded like the earth shattering apart, like a volcano erupting. A blast of white dust shot into the sky.

Percy heard a sharp pattering noise all around him. For a bewildered moment, he thought it had started to rain, and then he realized it was rubble and dirt and broken glass: the detritus of the shattered manor being flung down around them like deadly hail. He pressed her harder into the ground, his body flat against hers, her heartbeat nearly as loud in his head as the sound of manor's subsiding ruins.

...

The roar of the collapse faded slowly, like smoke dissipating into the air. It was replaced by the loud chirruping of startled birds, and Annabeth peeked over his shoulder to see them circle around the destruction curiously.

"Percy," she said softly. "I think I dropped the knife somewhere." The jar of blood was still pressed between them, protected.

He drew back slightly, propping himself up on his elbows. He could see himself in her eyes, covered in soot and dirt and grass. She reached up to brush something out of his hair, and he tensed.

"There was grass," she explained.

He didn't really care. "Are you alright?"

She sat up as he finally climbed off her, shakily rising to his feet. "I think so." The jar sat next to her waist, but he didn't really care about that either anymore. Her arms had red spots where his fingers had probably dug too deep, too strongly in an effort to save her. There would be bruises tomorrow, he knew, where he had forgotten the power of his own strength, and he felt a stab of guilt for it. But she was alive. She was breathing, her heart pounding, her face flushed and slightly sweaty from the fire that now only dimly burned over the debris and remains of the manor house. She winced.

His eyes narrowed on her arm where the cabinets had cut her. It was small, but it looked painful, at least for a human. He was already bleeding, but it didn't hurt too bad. Maybe that was just the adrenaline, though, or his lack of self preservation when she had been threatened like that. He cursed.

She inspected it. "It's okay. I can fix it. It's nothing a bandage and some Neosporin won't fix." She smiled hesitantly up at him. "That was pretty impressive, superman."

He helped her to her feet, and she still clutched the jar tightly to her heart.

"Me?" He shook his head. "You're the one who tricked him. You faked him out like a master."

She smiled shyly. "No," she began, "I think this one is all you, Perce. But thank you for letting me come with you." She tilted her head to one side, playful despite all that had happened.

He loved her, plain and simple. Standing in the moonlight, her good mood still prominent despite all her hardships, he knew it was true. She was so wonderfully human, so perfectly Annabeth, and it made everything in him ache to acknowledge because it wasn't the same type of love he'd previously thought. It was the heart-shattering, terrible, wonderful kind that only good people deserved.

"You don't need Neosporin," he finally said. "I can heal it for you."

"I forgot you're magic, Seaweed Brain," she teased, but she let him lead her home. "What about the rubble?"

"The fire will die out. It's no big deal." The flame was already dwindling.

"And the boy?"

"Bryce Lawrence." Percy's expression darkened. "I never would've thought it was the warlocks behind this, but I'll have to talk to Nico."

"And the angel?"

"I have no idea. I'm sure she's still out there, but this must be her blood. I'll find her later. First, let me take you home, though. Let me heal you." Nico could wait. The angel could wait. The world could wait.

She smiled slowly at him. "You're cute when you're worried, you know. You get this look on your face, and you sort of frown, but it's like a pretty frown."

He froze. "Um," he said intelligently.

She grinned. "I think I'm just going to call you superman now. You get all stupid when I do."

He didn't meet her eyes as they made their way back, thinking it unwise to show her the state she left him in. If he still needed air, he was pretty sure she'd take it all away. It was peaceful as they made their way back, the blood lighting the path home.

...

Nico blinked at the girl before him. "What do _you_ want?" he growled

"That's no way to talk to your elders, sweetheart." Drew smiled. "May I come in?"

"No." He laughed sharply. "Answer the question, Tanaka."

"I want my lackey boy back."

"Octavian?" Nico scowled. "Have at it. He's a nuisance. Calypso!" She came running, Octavian chained and gagged in her touch. She held him a foot away from her in disdain. Nico roughly grabbed him, kicking him to the ground before Drew. "There. You may leave now."

The gag fell down around Octavian's neck. "Oh, my sweet, sweet Lady. Such a pleasure to see your face again. These _heathens_ have locked me away, and—"

"Can it, boy." She sneered. He was a nuisance to her too, Nico figured. "Actually." With the rose dagger in her hand, she stabbed him in the heart, killing him instantly.

Calypso balked, but Nico didn't blink at the dead boy. "Thank God."

"Thank me, actually."

"Thank you for killing one of your own? You're a vindictive bitch, _Your Highness_ ," he mocked. He stepped out of the mansion, Calypso loyal by his side.

Drew twirled her hair, quickly growing tired of this game. "I heard you're blaming me for Kronos' murder. I could sue you for slander."

Nico smiled darkly. "You're standing on _my_ property, going directly against the laws, _and_ you tricked one of my own, trying to kill him. Don't talk to me about the laws when I helped write them."

"The Daylighter? He's already dead." She grinned.

Nico smirked. "No, no he's not." She paled, and he revelled in the expression. "You were stupid enough to leave him by a riverbank where he could escape. Now what do you really want?"

"I know how your stupid Daylighter got his abilities. I'll sell you the knowledge for a price, unless you're too scared to negotiate," she goaded.

Nico didn't take the bait, accustomed to her tactics. He hesitated, and he felt Calypso's eyes on him. "I'm listening."

...

"It has begun, Father."

Lucifer smiled wickedly, Hell burning around him. "The war?"

"No, sir."

His eyes flashed angrily. "Then what has begun? Did you know Mammon's daughter could end the world in a snap of her fingers? She is much accomplished, and highly powerful. She has wormed her way into the hearts of all the Downworld. What use are you to me if you cannot even complete a _simple_ task?" he patronized.

He shook in fear. "Father, please. A boy has her blood. The fey have been blamed. They have all grown angry. It will be no time at all until they are tearing each other's throats out."

"You'd better pray to the sick bastards above that they are," Lucifer threatened.

He swallowed, and it hurt. Hell's fire always seemed to burn at his skin a little bit. "Sir?"

"Or you'll pray I have mercy to only rip yours out."


	8. Chapter 8

"Hold still," Annabeth reprimanded.

For the most part, Percy was healing ridiculously fast—a side of both Daylighter powers and just regular vampirism—but the burns on his neck were worse from the whole lethal fire thing. Bryce's hand had been hotter than he remembered.

Annabeth dabbed aloe vera gel across his neck, and it was cool and soothing.

"This is stupid," he complained. It was nearly eight in the morning, and the sun had risen, the birds chirping. Neither of them had gotten a wink of sleep since the manor house, opting to shower one by one instead and wash away the debris and blood, and it was beginning to get late. That only put him on more edge. It was Sunday, meaning Annabeth's mother would be up very soon for Mass at ten.

"Stop complaining."

He batted her hands away, taking the empty cup at her bedside. He spit into it, and her face twisted in anger.

"Percy—"

He silenced her by dabbing the saliva across his skin. Just like that, the burns began to fade. "See?" he said, sounding a bit smug. "Your gel is stupid."

"Like you," she retorted.

"Hold still," he mocked, and he hovered over the cut on her arm hesitantly. He closed his eyes, trying not to think much of it, and he let his saliva close it, slowly but surely. She stilled above him. "Better?" His voice was hoarser than it had better earlier.

She didn't say anything, admiring her arm in fascination. "Wicked."

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'd better get going. These clothes are disgusting." Indeed, they were. A shower couldn't replace his dirtied clothes, and he was eager to get out of the torn, somewhat burnt fabric. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Annabeth nodded quickly. "You worry too much."

He shrugged one shoulder. "That's kind of my job." And he did. He worried when he was human, and he worried now, and he just worried until it made him sick. It was part of him, no matter how much he might've wanted to change it, and now he worried more. He worried about the angel, about the blood jar on Annabeth's nightstand, about _Annabeth_ and her safety, about his mom and sister and stepdad, about his friends, about Calypso, about Nico, about the murders, about the future, about the past, about what was going to happen to them all.

She studied his face. "I guess it is." Her features softened in sympathy. "Are _you_ okay?"

He hesitated. "Fine." He said it so quickly it was almost a habit at this point. He hadn't even bothered to ask himself the question, not since he cried himself to sleep the night before. Or, at least, that's what he assumed had happened. He'd really just woken in Annabeth's bed with no recollection of how he'd gotten there, presumably from her guidance.

"Percy, when's the last time you fed?"

He _did_ feel a little sickly to be honest. His stomach panged at the reminder. "A while ago."

She made a noise of protest. "You can't do this to yourself."

"It's not like it'll kill me." No—none of this could.

She frowned. "That's not an excuse. You look like you're either going to go attack all the squirrels in my yard and drain them dry, or pass out any second now."

He shrugged again.

"Percy," she said again, "I'm serious." Her eyebrows pinched together. "Tell me you understand."

"I understand."

"Percy."

"I do! I do. I'll be better," he said, but it felt like a lie. He didn't need blood; he needed answers. He needed, _wanted_ —he didn't know what he wanted. He felt Annabeth's hand come up to cup his face, inspecting him with concern, with something in her face he couldn't quite place.

"Promise? Don't make me nag you."

Percy shut his eyes for a moment, relishing her warm touch and the proximity. He could smell the scent of her soap still on her. It was sophisticated and citrusy, lemony. It smelled of the dawn and beautiful sunrises and mornings. It was fresh lemonade on a muggy summer afternoon. It was her face scrunched up in concentration as she chewed on her full lips, zeroing in on the homework before her, serious and intelligent and analytical. He was strangely reminded of being in seventh grade and head over heels in love with her, loving her quietly, watching as she fell in love with her studies and careers and _other_ boys who were not him, fiercely loyal to her through thick and thin, wanting her to be happy even if it wasn't with him.

But then he'd outgrown his awkward phase. He'd filled into baggy t-shirts, and he'd swam more than he breathed. He'd worked his way up to captain, growing closer to Jason and Grover as she leaned into Piper. They hadn't grown apart, exactly, but they'd become different.

She'd matured too. Annabeth finished her growth spurts, she became president of half the academic competitions in their school alongside Jason, finding her place in this mess. She'd risen to every challenge of wit, and she'd emerged victorious.

It was high school, and this was the natural order of how things were. He didn't _get_ to like her because he was pretty much a jock, and she would probably marry some surgeon, and she'd be a successful architect, and even if they were friends, they were just—different circles of expertise. Different lives. And yet it had brought him back to her.

"I don't like to make promises I can't keep," he said raggedly.

Her eyes flickered down to his mouth, and then they were crashing together like stars, his mouth finding hers, their lips fusing together. For a moment, Percy knew nothing else. It felt like his brain was melting, and he was lost in this place he'd wanted to be exactly four years ago. This kind of pining was lethal because it was _mutual_ , and it was wrong because… because… he struggled to think at all. All he knew was her breath on his, and she tasted like strawberries, probably from the gum she'd been chewing lazily while touching him up with aloe. Everything in him burned, and then it hit him like a freight train. A guilty, terrible freight train of doom and shame and self-hatred.

"I can't," he gasped, stumbling away from her hastily.

She peered at him through half-lidded eyes, bewildered. "What?"

"Calypso," he said, and her name in his mouth was freezing ice, waking him up. "Shit!" He raked his hands through his hair. He was a good guy. He _was_ a good guy. The boys on his team weren't always, but he was. His mother taught him how to treat people with respect, and this wasn't part of it. He was many things, but he was _not_ a cheater. He thought he was going to be sick.

"Wait, Perc—" She reached for him, but he crashed into her windowsill, just out of her fingertips. His eyes were blown wide, and suddenly he had lost the easy grace of being a vampire. He was stumbling and clumsy and disoriented.

"I have to go," he stuttered, and then, feeling like a coward, he crawled out of her window with only thought on his mind. He had to make this right _now_ , and it was only when he was halfway to the manor that he realized he'd forgotten the blood at Annabeth's place, which meant he'd inevitably have to go back eventually. The world really did hate him, after all.

...

"Calypso!" Percy burst into the dining hall, and he nearly screamed at the scene before him. There was a young man, not much older than him in human years, splayed across the table in front of her like a meal.

She peeked up at him, her mouth red with blood. "Percy," Calypso said calmly. "Meet my new subjugate. I've been meaning to get a new one for a while, and his blood is fantastic." She smiled slightly, licking her lips discreetly. "Want a taste?"

"Um... no." He paused. "Can I... can I talk to you?"

Calypso boredly leaned back in the chair, eyeing her human pet critically. "Be a dear and wait outside, won't you?"

The boy smiled dreamily, hazily, and he went, hissing at Percy as he left, to stand outside the door. That only made Percy more sure that he didn't want a subjugate anytime soon, finding the whole situation uncomfortable.

"Why are you covered in blood that's not yours?" She peered at him through her thick, curly eyelashes.

"Long story," he supplied lamely. "I'll explain later, but that's not really why I—"

"—you kissed her. I know." Her face didn't change at all, perfectly impassive. She had mastered the disguise of indifference beyond anyone else he'd ever known.

Percy's mouth dropped open slightly before he quickly recovered. "How did you know?"

She tapped her nose delicately. "You smell like her."

He wrung his fingers, guilty. "Look, I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean to, and I swear I'm not a cheating kind of guy, and if you hate me forever, I get it, just—"

"Percy," Calypso interrupted impatiently. She held up her hand to stop him, and he reluctantly fell silent. "I kind of always figured this was going to happen."

Only that made him feel so much more awful because here she was, openly admitting that he seemed like he was in love with another girl the entire time he was supposed to be in love with her. And he was. He loved Calypso, just not like he should've. Not as strongly as he should've. Not as romantically as he should've.

"Are you angry at me?" He chewed his lip nervously, anxiously awaiting her answer.

She sighed. "No. I can't say I'm not disappointed you didn't just call it off _before_ kissing her, but I have also lived long enough to know things get out of control. Besides, I never expected us to last like this. I knew from the moment we found her in that alley, and you freaked, that your heart belonged, at least partially then, to her." Her almond eyes flickered up to meet his. "Do you love her?"

If there was anything Percy had learned about Calypso through the weeks, it was that when she asked a question, she expected the truth. She asked because she genuinely wanted to know, not to make conversation.

"Yes," he said without missing a beat, and it made him feel strong to admit it.

She looked at him for a long time. "Then what are you still doing here? Don't you have a mortal girl to woo?"

He exhaled roughly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I have no intention of being with someone who belongs to someone else." She smiled coyly. "That isn't me, Percy. You know that. I am content because I make it so, but I think an awful lot of your happiness balances on her. Life is short, Percy. I know enough to know not to waste it trying to be somebody you're not."

Short? "But I thought—"

"—nothing is forever."

He scrunched up his face. "What about you? Or Nico? Or even me?"

"Immortal isn't forever, kiddo. Nothing is forever, and the sooner you learn that, the easier your life will be. We are immortal, but we are not indestructible."

There was a smidge of melancholy in her dark eyes, and Percy felt a sting of sadness for whatever she'd mourned through the years. "We could try again," he promised. "We could start all over and—"

"—no." She shook her head. "We have all of our version of eternity. Perhaps, if we're not meant to be now, we will be in the future. But while you still have the chance, tell her you love her, or you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

He was amazed by her ability to understand and her compassion. "I'm so sorry, Calypso. Really. I wish I would've done this differently."

"I know, Percy."

"And… thank you."

She smiled slowly. "It's no big deal. Oh, and when you return, Nico wants to talk to you."

That was another reminder. "I need to talk to him too, but first… first can I ask you something?"

She spread her arms. "Shoot."

"Can we change people's memories?"

Calypso regarded him dryly. "What'd you do?" She crossed her arms over her chest, bemused.

"My mom kind of freaked out." He rubbed the back of his neck. "It wasn't pretty."

She didn't ask any more questions, sensing his pain. "You used encanto," she explained. "It takes decades to perfect, but we can basically command mortals and even other Downworlders, depending on how much you've practiced it, to alter how they perceive things. You probably only did it out of instinct, so your little fledgling encanto command will fade in a couple of days, but if you want, I can come by your mom's house and do it for you," she offered generously.

Percy seriously considered it for a moment before slowly shaking his head. "No," he murmured. "I think that, if life is short, then I want her to know who I am, even if she hates me for it. I'm tired of living lies. If nothing is forever, then neither is my mom, and I want her to know. You won't rat me out for telling a human to Nico, will you?"

She twisted her lips in small amusement. "Percy, you wouldn't believe the kind of secrets I've kept for Nico. Also, your girl isn't growing any younger there," she reminded teasingly.

He beamed, leaning down to kiss her cheek in a friendly manner. "Thank you," he said for the millionth time. "Thank you times infinity."

She mindlessly licked the blood off her finger from her subjugate. "Oh, and one more thing."

He turned back to see her from the doorway.

"Remember when I told you we're infertile?"

Yes, he remembered sitting on her bed what felt like ages ago.

" _Shouldn't we—"_

"— _we're infertile," she mumbled against his lips before tangling her limbs with his._

Percy nodded slowly, not sure where she was going with this.

Calypso's eyes gleamed. "You're sterile too."

He covered his face as the insinuation dawned on him. "Goodbye, Calypso."

She laughed, a beautiful laugh that he had quickly grown to love, even now, even if in another way because his soul belonged to another, and he embarrassedly turned and walked out the door.

…

He scaled her window with easy grace, landing onto her carpet on his feet like a cat.

Annabeth was curled up in her bed with her phone illuminating her face, herself tucked into the bed like a burrito.

He slid his hand over her mouth, and she jolted in surprise, nearly screaming, scared half to death, before she realized it was him. She pried his hand off. "Your stupid blood is on the nightstand."

"I didn't come for the blo—"

"And another thing," she spat, not quite finished. She rolled up into a sitting position, more angry than before. "You can't just sneak up into my room like that. I thought you were a burglar!"

"I only covered your mouth because otherwise you'd wake up Canada!" he defended.

Annabeth hit him hard with the pillow, but it was a pillow, and it could only do so much damage. Her face, though, did far worse to him. She was glaring at him like she hated him, which he didn't exactly blame her if she did, genuinely upset. He knew because she was clutching a Bible to her chest. To ward him off.

His stomach sank. "Annabeth."

She held out the Bible defensively, and he jerked back to avoid being burned. _"Don't_ ," she seethed, upset beyond words. "Don't touch me." She stumbled to her feet, and he resisted the urge to steady her, knowing she was extremely temperamental.

He realized, feeling slightly ill, that her eyes were rimmed red like she had cried or nearly cried, and this was her way of hurting him. Or protecting herself. He'd hurt her far worse than he'd anticipated, and it made him _physically_ sick to know he was directly responsible for her distress.

Annabeth slid open her closet, revealing all sorts of religious trinkets from her mother.

Percy watched, appalled and with morbid fascination, as she began to stack up an absurd amount of Bibles around her bed like a wall, one that kept him out, and one that left her in, far, far apart from him.

"Come on, Wise Girl. This is ridiculous."

"Don't talk to me." She stacked up another Bible on top.

He rolled his eyes. "We're old enough to talk like adults."

She started lining up baby Jesuses to complete her blockade, ignoring him like she hadn't heard at all.

"You can't avoid me forever!"

"Watch me!"

"Annabeth."

"You can't just _do_ that, Percy. You can't just kiss me and then run away. Have you no shame? Don't you realize how much you hurt people around you?" She was furious and… upset. Pained. Her pain made him hurt.

"I came back. I'll always come back for you."

"I don't care; it's not enough this time. Get out of my room."

"Annabeth."

The Bible in her hand wavered slightly. She was listening, even if she liked to pretend she wasn't. She always was.

"Move the figures."

"I'm not moving Jesuses… the Jesi. Let them shame you for being a wuss."

He cracked a smile, unable to help it—it was her, after all, and her presence always made him feel better—and he saw her resolve crack slightly. "The Jesi?" he teased.

"Shut up."

"Annabeth." He reached a hand out for her. "Are you going to hide behind the Jesi and make me wait here forever, or will you come out?"

"Forever sounds awfully nice," she said coldly, but she took his hand and reluctantly slipped out from behind her shield. Her palm was warm in his.

"I'm sorry, and I love you," he whispered. It was an admission to himself more than anyone else.

She tried to scowl, but it was unsure. "That doesn't mean you can just bolt on me. I know you do. You've told me enough—"

"No," he interrupted, feeling only a little nervous. "Not like that. I _love_ you, love you."

Her breath hitched, and she was speechless.

He heard Calypso in his head, telling him to take a chance while he still could. He tugged her to him in one fluid motion, and he _wished_ his heart could beat so she'd be able to see how she made him feel. He _felt_ alive when she touched him, when she smiled, and it was more than enough. Cupping her jaw in his hand, he leaned forward, and he pressed his lips to hers. She stumbled back in surprise, and she held onto him for dear life as her mouth moved against his. It was everything he imagined a second kiss would be and more.

She gasped like a fish, pulling away, her cheeks flushed pink, and it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life. It was her humanness that made her so endearing. With the exception of werewolves, the supernatural grew old. And all four of them grew careless. They grew cold and heartless and terrible. Cruel. She was still kind and warm in her heart. She was compassionate and passionate, and that was her strength. Her warmth seeped into his and the world couldn't taint him, couldn't make him bitter when she was by his side.

"What are you doing?" He squinted at her as she began tossing the Jesi and Bibles into her closet haphazardly.

"I don't want them staring at me when I do this." Annabeth slammed the closet door shut, then seized the front of his shirt, dragging him down to meet her lips. She fell back on the bed as she kissed him with reckless abandon.

His nose slid past hers, and he probably would've laid there all day, forgetting his name, until there was a sharp knock at the door. It sent an icy drop of dread down his spine, and he rolled off her, seeking shelter in her closet.

Annabeth scrambled to her feet to answer the door just as he closed the closet in on him.

"Oh!" It was her mother. "You're not dressed yet."

"I forgot it's Sunday," Annabeth lied smoothly. "I'm just so slammed with schoolwork."

Percy rolled his eyes at the smile in her voice.

"Oh." Her mother sounded crestfallen. "Well, we'll be home in a few hours or so. I'll pray for your finals also." She paused. "You're not wearing your necklace!"

"Oh, I must've forgotten to put the new one on." Annabeth fiddled with the clasp, and the cross fell against the base of her neck, the metal cold. "Thank you," she said cordially. Her brothers were screaming at each other down in the kitchen, the perfect interruption to the stiff conversation.

"Lord knows I'd pay the preacher to come babysit. They only sit still then," she muttered, and he listened to the sound of her footsteps as they faded away. Someone shut the door, who he assumed was Annabeth, and he hesitantly opened the closet door before stepping back onto her fuzzy grey rug.

Annabeth was peeking outside her windows, watching her mother usher her brothers into the car with annoyance two minutes later. She turned and offered him the tiniest smile. She ripped the necklace off, tossing it onto her bed in one smooth motion before slamming him against the wall, stronger than he'd expected.

"Schoolwork?" Percy raised an eyebrow, her face mere inches from his.

She laughed. "My new favorite subject. She tilted her head to one side. "Is there going to be a final exam?"

"Sure," he said, suddenly feeling embarrassed and flustered at her blatant honesty. "You'd better study."

She hummed in agreement, kissing him fiercely. She had shoved him up against the wall and kissed him like in the movies.

He had thought it would hurt to finally kiss her as he'd wanted to do for so long. It used to ache, looking at her, especially when he was younger. It began to ache again when he lay with Calypso, wrongfully thinking of someone else in a way he shouldn't have. But this time it didn't hurt. No, this was a different type of fire. This was the type that was everlasting, that burned through the darkest of nights and the shiniest of mornings. It was a different type of desire, one that he had never experienced before.

Usually, Percy took that desire and satiated it, and usually, it was because the girl had reached out—he'd always been much too shy—but this was different again because he _knew_ what he wanted. He wanted to stay like this forever, his mouth fused to hers, chests pressed together like lovers of the stories, their breath mingling, their limbs entangled so that he could not tell where he began and where she ended.

Somewhere through the madness, they had migrated to her bed, and he caged her in by propping himself up on his forearms, dipping down to kiss her over and over and over again.

She was not passive at all, lifting her head up, demanding to be kissed just as much as he wanted to do so—a heady mix.

"Can you…?" she gasped out, tipping her neck back.

His stomach churned. "Bite you?" The thought was tempting, but he didn't want to spell her like that. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized she had both consumed vampire blood and been fed upon, making her eligible to be a vampire after death. It was a frigid thought, like that of a fever dream, and it faded away when he pulled away enough to see her entire face, illuminated by the sun, her eyes sparkling with want, a tiny, satisfied smile on her face.

She nodded slightly. Annabeth was a little careless, not unlike him, but at this moment he would've done anything and everything in his power to please her.

Percy hesitated. "Are you sure?" He was reminded of how he had fed from her only a little while ago, rapaciously, selfishly, purely for survival. He had managed to stop then. Now, his mind clouded with a different craving, and he wasn't so sure.

She nodded again, her eyes fluttering shut, her lips curving up in a sweet smile.

Percy's heart warmed at the gesture of implicit trust. Last time, he had not tried to make it feel better, save for closing the puncture wounds with his saliva, and he had broken the skin of her wrist to keep his distance, to force himself to be in control. He studied her face, blissful, and his gaze trailed down to the soft skin below her chin.

Hesitantly, he bent over her, his fangs swelling to full length. They pierced the flesh on her neck right at the pulse point, and he felt her go limp under him. Instead of taking it in greedy mouthfuls like he had when he was dying, he gently, slowly drank, using his last bit of restraint and control, trying to make it as pleasurable as possible.

Like he was a stranger, watching himself from the distance, he heard her murmuring his name, syrupy on her tongue, but it was mostly fuzzy static in his brain as he short-circuited. Nico and Calypso had been right—it was a thousand times better when it wasn't out of need.

He felt the sting of her nails digging into his skin, but he didn't mind it so much. She was clutching onto him desperately, almost like she feared he would dissipate into thin air, and her fingers found their way to his hair, numbing any last bit of his resolve. Her breathing had gone shallow, and she was slightly blanched, but when he made the effort to pull away, finally finding his self-control, she weakly fumbled to keep his mouth against her neck. He peppered kisses down her collarbone and the sweet spot that connected her shoulder to her neck before biting down on the other side, and he reveled simply in the way she gasped, her sighs ragged and broken.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed that way, but for once in his life, he wasn't obsessed with keeping track, with running off to the next thing, to feeling like he was running out of time. She made every minute feel like an hour in the best way possible, and he wanted to take their lives slow and enjoy the simple things that made it beautiful.

…

Annabeth warily looked up at the mansion.

"Are you sure about this?" Percy let her squeeze his hand as tightly as she wanted to. "You don't have to come with me."

She tightened her hold on the jar of blood. "They won't attack me, right?"

The corner of his mouth pulled up in mild amusement. "You'll be okay. You smell like me."

She wrinkled her nose. "That's unfortunate. You always smell like chlorine. Well—you used to when you had a smell."

He laughed. "Come on. Nobody would dare touch you; just stay close to my side." Percy pushed open the door to the gothic mansion, and she sidled up next to him as it creaked. Part of him knew she was more afraid of this than the manor house. She had to know this time what was in store for her.

"It's dark," she said in surprise, stumbling slightly. The few lights did not provide much guidance.

"We can see in it," Percy explained. He was immediately hit with the scent of blood, dust, and wood. His hand fell to the small of her back, leading her up to Nico's room. She had begrudgingly agreed to be nice to Calypso at his request, and he thought, after he'd sated her earlier, that she'd significantly calmed down.

The stairs groaned under her, but his supernatural footsteps were light and nimble. He wasn't even capable of leaving footsteps in the dust, yet another perk.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he peeked to the left. Sure enough, there were four or five vampires sitting around a table, conversing warmly. They stiffened, falling silent when they saw him. No—when they saw Annabeth. She tensed next to him, her pulse quickening. _The pheromones,_ Percy realized.

"Fresh blood," the one closest to Silena cooed. Percy recognized him. He had always been a bit of an asshole, if you asked him. "Glad to see you finally got off your high horse and got a subjugate, Daylighter," Atlas hissed, his teeth sharp, his eyes hungry. "Pretty too."

Annabeth pressed back against him in fear. Percy's arm came around her shoulders protectively. His chest rumbled, a low growl too low for human ears to hear, staking his claim. "I don't want any trouble. Calm your pheromones. You're scaring her."

He guffawed. "You're _supposed_ to scare them, or have you gone soft already? We can't have those puny humans running around, thinking they're better than we are." He rose to his feet, his fangs growing at the scent of Annabeth's blood.

"You're a dead human," Percy reminded him coolly. "Sit down."

Silena eyed Annabeth curiously. "She doesn't _look_ like a subjugate."

"She's not," said Percy, guiding the frightened blonde past the table of rapacious vampires. "Just a little further," he whispered to her, but all the vampires would've heard him anyway.

Atlas reached for her, but Percy was there in a moment, shielding her with his body. "Touch her, and I'll rip you to shreds." He glared, and his eyes had a dull warmth like they did when they began to glow again.

Atlas chuckled haughtily. "You're lucky the sire's taken a liking to you, or I'd mount your head on my wall for that smart mouth."

"I'd like to see you try," Percy spat, ushering Annabeth out of there and to the staircase on the opposite end of the room as quickly as he could. One of these days, Percy seethed to himself, he was going to murder that bastard.

Annabeth stopped shaking so much when she was back in the empty halls, the creepy paintings lining the walls. She shuddered, her shoulders tensed up. "His eyes were all weird, like… neon lime, and I—"

Percy gently traced reassuring circles on the inside of her wrist. "I know. I'm sorry. I didn't think he'd be there—he's usually not at the mansion, but it _is_ daylight right now, so everyone's home." Her fingers were cold as ice, and he wished he could warm her up, but he had no body heat. "But you did good. Look." He pointed to the door at the very end of the hall. "That's Nico's room."

She still quivered slightly, and the guilt came flooding back like a tsunami, taking him under.

"We'll go see Piper after this, okay?" He tucked her under his arm, hoping that his solid foundation would make her feel less afraid of this place and its inhabitants.

"Piper?" she murmured, nodding dazedly. It seemed to help her forget the chilling interaction with Atlas. "How can you see her, though?"

"I'm tired of living a lie." He tilted her chin up to look her in the eye. "Piper's the most understanding, and she watched half of those trashy supernatural shows with me. We'll test it with her first."

Annabeth's face lit up, fear forgotten, a distant memory in the reel of their lives. "Really?"

He'd have told her a million more things, whatever she wanted, if she'd looked at him that happily every single time. He nodded shyly, and she wrapped her arms around him in a comfortable hug.

Percy rapped his knuckles against Nico's door. "Does Nico scare you?" he asked curiously as they waited.

Annabeth mulled it over. "He's scary, I think, scarier than even the guy back there, but he doesn't scare me as much. I think he tries not to, and he's sort of… funny, actually, in a strange way."

"Funny, you say?" Nico swung the door open, his eyebrow raised in surprise. He peered at Percy critically. "Glad to see the silver didn't kill you."

Percy scowled in remembrance. "That sucked," he informed him.

Nico's features turned up in benign amusement. "It was supposed to." He looked between Annabeth and Percy before casually leaning against the doorway. "I see you've brought the human. That's bold, even for you."

Percy shrugged slightly. "She said she could handle it."

"Could she?" Nico's lips twitched slightly, and his glittery gaze landed on Annabeth.

"Sort of," said Annabeth, nodding slowly at him.

"Atlas," Percy explained.

Nico rolled his eyes, swinging the door open wider. "Don't let him scare you. He's been on probation four times, and he's more bark than bite. Now are you both going to stand before my door all day, contemplating if the paint holds the answers to life, or are you going to come in? I smell blood, and it sure as hell isn't human."

Annabeth looked at Percy, who shrugged one shoulder, before stepping into his luxurious room.

…

"So you just killed this warlock? Easily?" Nico paced across his room. He had, surprisingly, allowed Annabeth to sit on his dark bed. It was strange because none of the other vampires were permitted on his furniture, not even Percy or Calypso, but he had made an exception for her. Percy softened at the gesture. Deep down, Nico did indeed have a heart after all.

"Yes," Percy admitted, licking his lips nervously. "I thought it was strange too."

Nico held up the angel blood, inspected it carefully. "A trap?" he mused.

"There were none. The house exploded, but that was because of Bryce, not because of a premade trap." Percy stood against one of the walls, watching his sire circle about his grand room.

"Who would leave a _weak_ warlock to guard angel blood?" Nico put the blood down on the table in the center of his room. It glowed, a luminescent, warm yellow throughout the room. "They wouldn't," he said, answering his own question as he tried to work it out aloud. "Not unless they _wanted_ someone to get the blood. But how did they know it would be you?" He eyed Percy curiously.

"The girl in my head, um, the angel, you know the one who—"

"—Perseus, there's only one angel when we talk about angels as of now," Nico remarked dryly.

"Right." Percy rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "She told me where it was. She described the mansion to me, showing me her mind, zooming out and out and out, and I had thought she was showing me _her_ mind—I had thought we'd find her there—but it can't have been. She was nowhere to be found."

Nico was quiet and thoughtful. "So she wanted you to find it? But no one else would have known where it was, not if she showed you through your mental bond."

"Mental bond?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Nico pursed his lips. "Her blood courses through your veins."

" _What?"_

"We can't speak with angels, Percy," Nico explained in exasperation. "We are not connected to them. Warlocks sometimes speak with their parents, werewolves and the fey do not correspond with anyone, and there have been rare stories of our kind conversing with Hecate herself, though that may be a myth, but none of us link to the angels. We are the children of their enemies. They only care for us because they must care for every creature on their earth, both living and dead, but I assume they would not regard us fondly."

"How do I have her blood? I'm the son of two humans." Percy's mouth felt dry.

Nico's eyes glittered. "Whoever turned you injected you with it, which means the angel's been trussed up for some time now."

"How long have you known?" Percy asked, his chest tight.

"I suspected it for a while. I even spoke to Drew."

"Drew?" Percy's stomach churned. "What did you pay her for the information?"

Nico stiffened. "That's none of your business."

Percy tried not to think about it, more focused with the fact that he'd yet again kept secrets from him. "And you didn't tell me?" he hissed.

Nico rolled his eyes again. "I thought we talked about this. I can't tell you anything because you're irresponsible and a kid."

Percy scowled. "It would've been nice to know I was somewhat related to the damn _Heavens._ "

"Don't curse and speak about them," he chastised.

Percy's scowl deepened. "You literally curse the man above every second you get."

"That's because God's a bastard."

Annabeth cringed, and Nico's gaze snapped to her.

"Don't go running to your mommy with that," he drawled. "She'll put soap in your mouth for it."

Annabeth paled. "How do you know my mother's Christian?"

"Wild guess," he speculated, waving away her concern.

"Why do you hate him anyway?" Percy pressed, remembering how he'd slammed the door in his face.

"I grew up in 3000 BC. Take a guess." He sounded bitter.

Percy's stomach sank with realization. Nico was very much not straight. "I'm sorry." Annabeth still looked lost, but he thought that perhaps this would stay between just him and Nico, as it should.

"Don't be." Nico turned the jar around, and the blood only seemed to light up brighter.

"Does this mean that if we inject the rest of our clan with the blood, they'll turn Daylighter?" Annabeth guessed, reading the awkward silence correctly and taking it as an opportunity to acquire information.

"Possibly." Nico shrugged one shoulder. "Or they could die a terrible, gruesome death, the angelic blood burning them up until they explode in a pile of ash."

Percy's stomach churned, and Annabeth's eyes widened.

"Percy got lucky. Who knows how many they tried it on before they got it right with Percy? I would never risk my own clan for it."

"Not even for Daylighter abilities?" Percy's voice was soft. He knew how important it was to Nico that they someday figure out how to absolve them all from their days spent in the nights.

Nico didn't hesitate, but his expression darkened. "No." He stared out the curtains drawn closed across the window. "They wanted someone to find the blood. It would have to be a supernatural being. That mansion cannot be found by humans, nor will it ever be found again. It probably seems purely abandoned to humans, and they'd never dare venture there. But what is there to gain if someone finds it?"

Annabeth tilted her head to one side, thinking. "Do you think the Downworld would fight over it?"

"Of course. It's the most valuable thing to ever sit in this mansion, except perhaps Percy." Nico smiled slightly, patronizingly—though Percy suspected that was a bit how he always was—but the expression was quickly wiped off in realization. "Wait," he breathed, his eyes widening. "Wait, yes they would. Of course."

Percy was startled. "Nico?"

"They didn't _care_ who found it." He raked his nails through his hair, and his eyes glowed slightly in sudden understanding. Annabeth scooted back, but Nico didn't seem to notice at all. "As long as someone found it. If someone found it, and they were foolish enough for someone else to see it, it would be an all out war."

"What are you saying, exactly?" Percy enquired.

Nico's mouth pressed into a grim line. "Did you see anyone when you had the blood in possession?"

"No," Percy stammered. "We went straight to Annabeth's place, and it stayed there until we came to see you now."

Nico shook his head, rubbing his temples in frustration. "Someone must've seen. It was the dark of night. A werewolf, perhaps." He cursed, searching for something.

"You can use mine," Annabeth offered, handing out her smartphone.

Nico blinked owlishly at it before plucking up a glass sphere by his bedside. There was a milky white substance in it.

"What's going on?" Percy demanded finally, fear prickling at his scalp from Nico's sudden change of demeanor.

Nico laughed raspily, harshly. "Don't you see? It _was_ a trap. Fucking hell." He fumbled with the sphere, throwing it to the ground. A cloud of white exploded around them, smelling musty.

Annabeth coughed, needing fresh air unlike vampires, and she waved the fog away from her face.

"Thalia Grace," Nico summoned, his voice gritty and low.

"A trap?" Percy swallowed the lump in his throat, watching carefully as the magic swirled before them, changing to the black smog and flame of Thalia's signature magic. In an instant, she was standing in the center of the room, sipping some fruity mixed drink casually.

"Yes." Nico looked at Percy, his brown-black eyes flickering red with pent up anger. "They didn't _care_ who found the blood because they're trying to pit us all against each other. They want us at each other's throats. They want us to not know who to trust. They don't _care_ because they know war will happen anyway. They blamed the fey for the murders, preying on the majority of Downworld's mistrust of them; they left evidence of werewolves and vampires on the dead victims; they left the highest blood in the universe for anyone to snatch up. I thought it was careless, but no one who possesses angel blood, who _captured_ one of Raziel's court, is that stupid."

"War?" Percy felt small. He didn't want to know what war, what bloodshed would be like with supernatural creatures. "Are you saying they framed us all?"

"Where did you say the angel looked to be chained up in your head?" Nico's expression was bleak. Thalia quit sipping, quietly watching a conversation she had no understanding of.

"This cell-like place. Sometimes she'd scream, and it looked like there was fire. Colored fire."

Nico laughed hollowly, and it made Percy feel sick. "And that's the final piece. Warlocks wield colored fire. They played us all."

"But why?"

Nico angrily glared at him, sending chills down his spine. "They want to tear the Downworld apart."


	9. Chapter 9

"Tell me it's not true." Percy looked at Thalia desperately. "Tell me we're not about to be in a full war because I took some blood."

Thalia's expression pinched, ignoring him completely. "Hazel Levesque is dead."

Nico's mouth fell open. "No."

"Yes."

"How?"

"The fey. We found her covered with their runes and weapons."

Percy felt ill. "Hazel?"

"A beloved warlock," Thalia muttered, furious. "I'm going to _kill_ Drew."

Percy's fingers trembled. "You didn't."

"I did. We've declared war on the fey at dawn," Thalia admitted.

"Are you allying yourself?" Nico's expression darkened.

"We refuse to drag werewolves and vampires into it. They fey will become your enemy. Besides, I think you have bigger issues." She held out a piece of paper for Nico.

He hesitantly took it, his eyes quickly scanning the paper, and then he crushed it in his fist. It crumbled to bits, falling to the floor. "They want the blood."

"Who?" Percy felt a surge of anxiety as fear clawed up his throat.

"Werewolves. They think it can reverse lycanthropy, and they're willing to test it on themselves." His shoe crunched onto the paper. "They know we have it, and if we don't negotiate rations, they've declared war at midnight."

Annabeth paled. "Two wars?" Her voice was small, overlooked in the chaos.

Nico swung his bedroom door open. "Calypso." He didn't even have to scream, knowing she would hear.

She came running in an instant, appearing at his doorstep. "Sire?"

"Tell the clan to board up the entire mansion. Every window. Every door. No exceptions."

"Sir?" Calypso's eyes widened. "What's going on?"

Percy felt the panic rise, both around him and within. "What the hell are we going to do?"

"What else can we do? We'll fight. And we'll win." He scowled. "I won't give them the blood. I _won't._ "

"What harm does it do?" Percy pleaded. "They can have half. If this is about pride—"

"Shut _up_ ," he snapped. "This is about the fact that they will use that blood to do cruel, vicious things. You don't know—just—Calypso, damn it! Time is of the essence."

"Yes, sir," she gasped, and she vanished from his door at his outburst, commotion echoing from downstairs immediately.

"Thalia," Nico hissed. "What did you find, finally?"

"Holy water. Whoever injected Percy has been injecting holy water in other creatures to stir up the attacks. They die about an hour after the injection." The glass in her hand dissipated.

"So it's a wild goose chase," Nico realized. "One time it was Kronos, and another time it could be a vamp, and another time it could be a werewolf. We can't find a single killer behind the murders because there isn't one."

There was a shrill screech as the vampires shifted the furniture downstairs.

Nico looked at Thalia. "Can we have your dead?"

Thalia was appalled. "You want the dead warlocks? Why?"

"I'd like to turn them into vampires. We need all the soldiers we can get."

"You want an alliance?"

"If you're willing. We'll crush the fey for you."

Thalia's brows furrowed. "Deal. I'll have Will get the bodies for you."

"What do I do?" Percy interrupted for the first time in forever.

Nico hesitated. "Can I trust you not to do something stupid?"

"I'll follow orders through and through," Percy promised.

Nico's eyes narrowed at him, making a judgement, and then he peered at Thalia, who only shrugged. "Fine. _If_ you're genuine, I need you to do something for me."

"Anything."

Nico sighed in defeat. "I need you to go talk to my father."

Percy blinked. Once. Twice. A nervous laugh tore its way out of his lips. "What do you mean _talk to him?_ You're 5000 years old; isn't he dead?"

Nico squeezed his eyes shut, and Thalia's hand came to his shoulder reassuringly. "It's okay," she muttered. "We can tell him."

Nico's face was impassive. "He _is_ dead. Dead to me," he said resentfully. "But no, otherwise he is very much alive. Nonetheless, the last time there was a war even _close_ to this big, it wiped out nearly half the populations. We cannot have another war now, and there is no way to reason with the other factions. I hate to say it, but he is perhaps the _only_ one who can help. I don't want to keep the angelic blood. If we pour it down a drain or something, Heaven knows what could happen, what sort of mutation could form. I need it _gone._ If it's not here, the war may end. It may not, but it's the best shot we've got. My father won't help us because he's not allowed to interfere in Downworld matters, but he will probably take the blood off our hands."

"Okay," Percy agreed slowly. "So you want me to go to your childhood home? Where is that? New York?"

"I lived in Italy." Nico shook his head. "And no... no he never lived there. He works somewhere far, far away."

Percy's throat felt tight. "And then? After he takes the blood, do I come back here?"

Nico's eyes widened and he held out his hands as if he could ward him away. "No! Under no circumstances are you to come back here after midnight, do you understand me?"

"Nico?"

"No! It will be bloodshed, and we cannot risk to lose you, not when you are the closest to the angel."

"Why me?" Percy asked finally. "Why wouldn't you go see your own father?"

"First of all," Nico began, "I haven't seen my father since I first turned. Second of all, I wouldn't be able to bear his presence. I imagine you're one of the few who can, but even that is a gamble."

His curiosity got the best of him. "Who _is_ your father exactly?"

Nico pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Think of him as Raziel's boss."

"Raziel's boss?" Percy stumbled back against the bed in surprise. And then understanding. _That's because God's a bastard._ "Oh my g—" He fell against the floor, trembling uncontrollably. "You're— _he's_ —fuck _._ "

Nico schooled his expression. "You don't need to be mortal to turn into a vampire, only half."

Percy laughed hysterically, on the verge of sobbing. Too much had happened, and too quickly. It was beginning to beat down on him like Whack A Mole.

"You can't tell anyone," Nico said hurriedly. "Only Thalia and Will know, and that's how it will always be, got it?"

Percy nodded sluggishly. Everything in him felt like he was going numb. "How do I even find him?"

"You'll have to summon him," Nico said, and his voice was cold. "You'll have to give him a _reason_ to pay attention to you."

"How do I do that?"

"Free the angel," Nico breathed. "Free her, and she may help us. Free her, and my father might pay attention to you. Free her, and we can end this war before it gets out of hand."

Annabeth rose to her feet, albeit unsteadily. "We'll leave now."

"We?" Nico echoed. "You're taking the human?"

"She's the smartest person I know," Percy defended. "If anyone can figure out how to get his attention, it's her."

Nico frowned, but he didn't object. "Fine. Just get out of here and take the blood. And—and be careful," he said softly. It was the first time Percy had ever heard a hint of concern in his voice. "I don't know how she will fare." He gestured to Annabeth.

Thalia fashioned a metal canister to hide it in, and she tucked the jar carefully in it. Then, before their very eyes, it disappeared.

"What the hell?" Percy peered at it. It was far from the strangest thing he'd seen or heard today, but he thought he might be going into shock.

"Invisibility glamour," Thalia briefly explained. "It should help keep the other Downworlders off your scent. Now go."

Annabeth hugged it tight to her chest and nodded slightly at Percy.

"Oh, and Percy?" Nico called behind him, even if he was already half out the door. "Don't screw this up."

If Percy didn't know better, he would've thought Nico was worrying, but he didn't have a chance to say anything before Annabeth dragged him down the staircase.

"He's the son of _God_ ," Annabeth whispered shakily, stunned as they stumbled out of the mansion.

"Stop talking, or I might faint." Percy peered up at the sun, trying to look past the clouds and the vivid azure. "I think I might faint regardless."

Annabeth's hand closed in his, allowing him to ride out his anxiety with pressure relief. "You and me both."

…

"Where's the closest church?" Percy asked. "I see so many crosses whenever she sends me flashes of her vision, and it has to be one."

Annabeth's charcoal eyes analytically scanned the street. "The one my mother attends. Come on."

"Who hides an angel in the house of g—" Percy winced, his throat burning at the word again. "How would it go unnoticed?"

"I don't think it works like that," said Annabeth matter-of-factly. "Maybe they can't interfere." She was out of breath by the time they stopped in front of the cathedral. The stained glass was beautiful, decorated with carvings of the Virgin Mary, Jesus, and golden light.

Percy found himself cringing away from it. It was like he could _feel_ how much it hurt. "Now it makes. Of course they hid an angel in a church. I can't go _in_ a church."

There was a scream from across the green, interrupting the serenity. Annabeth's eyes were wide too, and Percy felt the relief crash into him like waves that maybe he wasn't so crazy and alone after all.

"It seems," Annabeth murmured breathlessly, "that her captor is not a fan of churches either."

They sprinted around the building, but saw nothing.

"There," Annabeth pointed out, gesturing to a set of two doors on the ground. "The basement. It's separated from the main worship, and it'd be the perfect place to hide something. Plus, just like in your visions, it's also made of—"

"—stone," Percy finished with understanding. He peered at the padlock on the doors before easily breaking it under his fist. He carelessly dropped the metal remains in the tall, itchy grass. It scratched at his ankles. Then he slammed the doors open like paper. He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, still not completely in control of his strength.

Percy dropped into the pit first, wanting to gauge the fall. Immediately, he smelled blood. Angel blood. It reminded him of the jar so much that he knew they were in the right place. The basement itself was musty and there were dim, fluorescent lights hanging above. He could hear the twitch of every fly stuck in the glass. It made his left eye twitch. Vampire or not, bugs were still gross. He scoured his surroundings, searching for any sign of a possible attacker. The walls were bare, the floor crowded with dusty boxes and rolled up rugs.

He held out a hand for Annabeth which she surprisingly accepted. He'd half-expected her to slap it away and leap down herself, but she didn't. Perhaps it was because she was carrying the invisible blood.

She stumbled into him from the momentum, and he steadied her on instinct. "Why do they always have to do this stuff in the dark? I'm practically blind," she mumbled to herself, somewhat shrinking.

The scream pierced the air again, and Percy felt his blood boil with anger. Angel or human or devil—nobody should've used their supernatural abilities to hurt anyone. Not only did it trigger bad memories to resurface, to cloud his brain, but it also just pissed him off. Percy liked to think of himself as an easy going, laid back sort of guy, but he refused to stand for this gross abuse.

"I thought I heard someone," a low voice growled.

Percy spun around, just in time to see the basement doors slam shut above them and click with the gut-clenching finality of a lock. He tensed, immediately stepping before Annabeth protectively.

The voice ducked forward into the flickering lights, and for the first time, Percy got a good look at their opponent. He was tall, maybe just as tall as Luke, and his features pinched down in pure loathing. He seemed to be old enough to be in college, and he had an athletic muscular build. He had short-cropped sandy blonde hair, shiny blue eyes, and a sharp nose. There was one thing very unsettling about him, something that rubbed Percy the wrong way. From the bottom of his eye down to his chin, there was a thick, deep, pale scar like a creature's talons had gotten to him too fast.

Percy smelled the magic off him in a split second. "Warlock," he snarled low in his throat. He was beginning to grow very tired of the demons' children, save for Thalia and Will.

"Daylighter," he greeted coolly.

The angel's scream pierced the air off in the distance once more.

The young man's gaze slid past Percy's face and landed on Annabeth, making Percy stiffen in discomfort. His blue eyes narrowed at her, scrutinizing her, inspecting her, _judging_ her. Percy's arm came up before her.

"You brought a human." His mouth twitched into a small, cruel smile. "Sentimental, aren't you?"

Annabeth glared daggers at him. "Underestimate me again, and it'll be the last thing you ever say," she threatened harshly, and she let her hand fall to Percy's shoulder, protecting him the same way.

"You stole an angel," Percy breathed. His voice felt hoarse. "You thieved from _Raziel's_ court. You tortured one of the Heavens," he accused. "Hand her over or else."

He cocked a fine, blond eyebrow. "Or else?" He stalked toward Percy who resisted the urge to back up and submit to fear. He would not give him the satisfaction. "Do you know who I am, _Daylighter?"_

Percy's scowl deepened. "Why does everyone ask me that? It's not like I stalk you idiots."

His eyes flashed with anger. "I'm Luke. _Luke_ ," he growled. "Learn the fucking name, and watch who you insult, or Lucifer might strike you down." A mischievous smirk flitted across his features.

Percy's stomach knotted. Lucifer? He had only met one warlock with the same prowess and lineage, and that was Thalia. Nico had told him it was rare, _so_ rare, for there to be children of one of the seven princes of Hell. Thalia's father, Mammon, was the prince of greed. She had told him herself. He did not remember the rest of her crash course in demonology—

"Pride," Annabeth whispered. Of course she would remember. "He fell for his _pride_."

"So the pet knows a few tricks," he provoked, mocking, and her glare hardened.

Percy felt his fangs lengthen by their own accord.

"Easy, vampy." He grinned wickedly. "I mean no trouble."

"Sure you don't," Annabeth acidly spat. "I'm not afraid of you or your father, and I don't want a fight. Release the angel, and we won't touch a hair on your head."

His smile dimmed some. "You're feisty," he allowed. "I might even let you fight for your life instead of just outright killing you. I might even let your precious Daylighter _watch._ " He blinked at Percy, and then he attacked.

Flames licked the sides of walls, but the stone would not catch on fire, and it was Percy's only saving grace. His arm popped out in one swift movement, and it cracked against Luke's jaw with supernatural strength. Luke was slammed into the opposing cement, and a loose groan fell from his lips.

He swiped the back of his hand across his nose where blood was pooling. "You're going to regret that, you little upstart," he muttered. His hand blazed with a hot ball of fire. Whereas Thalia's magic was pitch black, and Will's was a soothing gold, Luke's was an icy blue, yet it blazed hotter than any glacier.

Percy ducked as it cracked into the wall behind him, his adrenaline racing.

Luke threw some more, deeming Annabeth mostly useless and just caging her with fire while he toyed with Percy. He staggered to his feet, more blood dripping to the ground. It smelled like poison, and Percy cringed back. "Yes," he breathed harshly with great effort. "I'll make you watch indeed." He pushed the barrier of fire closer to Annabeth, and she scrambled back against the corner where he'd trapped her, but the fire kept slowly creeping into her space.

Percy realized, with a jolt of fear, that Luke was giving him a time limit. The fire moved too slowly for it to be an accident, but it was his warning, taunting him. If he was too slow, Annabeth would burn up into a crisp. He swallowed thickly. "You don't want this with her," he murmured. "This is between you and I. Leave her out of it."

Luke crooned. "Oh, look." He shot a glance at Annabeth who was defiant despite her harrowing circumstance. "He's begging. You should be flattered that someone as important as him cares at all about someone as puny as you."

"She's not puny," Percy gasped, surging forward and strangling him. They both crashed to the ground with sparks of fire surrounding them.

He was also starting to get sick of all the fire being used against him. You'd think that vampires would've been smart enough to keep the knowledge of their weakness from being imparted to other species. Which was the dumbass who let it slip? Percy would've liked to personally meet them and just throw a smoothie in their face, maybe the Green Latifah flavor Annabeth liked so much from the juice and smoothie shack down the street from his mother's house.

"Crazy bastard," Percy managed to say as Luke rolled on top of him, his hands and arms burning like Bryce's had, and Percy knew with certainty then that Bryce had been one of Luke's minions. "I _hate_ your blood, fu—" He sunk his fangs into Luke, trying to use his supersonic speed to drain him as fast as possible. _Don't taste, don't taste, don't taste,_ he told himself, grimacing at the acidic taste of demonic blood poisoning perfectly good human blood. He was vaguely aware of screaming, both from the angel and probably Annabeth too. Perhaps it was the demon blood finally getting to him and making him woozy, but as Luke quickly paled over him with dizziness of blood loss, Percy thought he was hallucinating Nico off to the side. He was rolling his eyes as he always was, and his mouth was curled up like he was about to spit one of his infamous snarky comments. He could already see Thalia grinning from ear to ear, mouthing _kinky_ or _nice gay porno, Jackson._

Luke collapsed on top of him, too lightheaded, and Percy retracted his fangs, gasping and gagging as he spit up as much of the blackened blood as possible.

Luke rolled up to his elbows. The fire near Annabeth had receded greatly from his newfound weakness, courtesy of Percy, and he glared at invisible blood in Annabeth's hand. Somehow, Percy didn't think it was so invisible to him. With a shallow wave of his hand, it was no longer invisible, clear as day, the glamour peeled off so easy.

Annabeth only gripped it tighter, a broken off piece of wood pointed like a weapon at Luke.

"Mammoth's work," he growled. He used his magic to burst open the basement doors, and he hauled himself out while Percy was still forcing himself to spit it all up, on the verge of throwing up. "It doesn't matter. I already planted the blood on you. They're already going to war. I've already won, and my father would be so proud," Luke seethed angrily, and he disappeared into the light.

"Percy!" Annabeth was by his side in a second, but that wasn't his concern.

"He's jealous," Percy realized as he connected the dots. He had noticed when he spoke of Lucifer earlier, and now, when he'd undone Thalia's work. "He's like a jealous middle child. He's a son of Lucifer, and I imagine Lucifer only praises Thalia, _Mammon's_ daughter."

Annabeth continued to pat his back as he coughed and clutched his stomach and throat. "Are you telling me all this bloodshed and war and framing was instigated by one boy's jealousy?" she hissed in disbelief.

"Yes," Percy groaned, still feeling queasy. "That and Lucifer. They've created all this. I saw it in Drew once, and sometimes in Nico too. When you've lived for so long, your only feeling of ecstasy comes from chaos. Faeries _thrive_ on chaos. I imagine the princes of Hell aren't much different."

Annabeth paled. "So they're going to tear each apart over _nothing_ ," she said as Percy's words truly sunk in, and it dawned on her.

Percy finally stopped wanting to retch, and he stood up straight. The angel's piercing cry came again, and he flinched. "Come on. We still have a job to do, and Nico's counting on me."

They sprinted down the corridors in the dark, Percy leading the way and feeling for Annabeth's wrist's pulse in his hand to make sure she was still with him. At the final hallway where the screams were loudest, there were twenty or so doors. Percy glanced at Annabeth in understanding, and as she ran down the left side, slamming them all open with her wooden stake close still clutched to her heart, he zoomed down the right side and the back, kicking and punching them all open with sheer force, glancing at the useless church storage, and moving on to the next one.

" _Shit!"_ Annabeth stumbled away from a door, slapping it closed as quickly as she had opened it. She was shielding her eyes in horror and shock.

Percy was there in the blink of an eye, and he cautiously pushed it open again, wary of what he would find. What he saw was ten times worse than he could have ever anticipated.

The room was glowing blue with Luke's magic, and dark tendrils of black smoke curled through the room. It seemed like he had stepped into an alternate dimension. Or Hell.

And, chained against the wall with the same black smoke, shaped into cuffs and linked chains, was the sun itself, or so he thought until he got a closer look. Her hair was a fiery red, the prettiest thing he had ever seen in his life, and from her wrists and everywhere her porcelain skin touched the smoke, liquid gold spilled onto the floor. It was shiny and metallic, and it smelled like what the stars might've smelled like if they had a scent at all. Scrunched in pain, her emerald irises leaked gold too, shielded only by her full, coppery lashes. The golden tears clung to those too. There were tiny freckles artistically dotted across the bridge of her nose, but when Percy's vision zeroed in on them, he realized they were glowing, and they were shaped like stars, all various sizes and different shades of bronze. Her face was gaunt and pale, starved of life and nourishment and happiness, and the foggy clouds billowing around her seemed to suffocate her glow. She was sick.

Percy's eyes flickered down to her arms, and he realized with horror that there were tubes and needles attached, sucking her essence and blood in glass tanks neatly stacked off to the side. He felt dizzy from the sheer amount of blood. And, her heart in her chest, was a shadow through her skin, black and slowly, achingly pumping. Almost like Luke had poisoned it with his magic. Like he had injected demon blood into it just to torture her, and it sparked every time her heart beat.

He moved forward to loosen the black smoke, and he was surprised that neither the black or blue affected him. He was one with the children of Night, and the dark could never hurt him. Not anymore.

"Annabeth," Percy begged, loosening the shadowy chains. He was careful not to touch her, her skin radiating heat he feared would kill him. He felt a bit suffocated, just in her presence, but he suspected her blood coursing through his veins made it a bit more bearable. "Annabeth, I can't touch her. You'll have to try."

"I'm mortal," she protested, but she abandoned the angel's blood-filled jar with the other glass tanks. Her fingers turned charcoal and red with welts and burns as she loosened the chains. The dark would hurt her, but she was a child of the Heavens, and the angel's heat was dull for her. A comfort,not a burden.

The angel fell to her knees, finally freed. Her heart began to turn back to a lush pink, slowly but surely, once Luke's magic wasn't tied to her anymore.

Percy took a few steps away, backing into Luke's black shadows. She was beginning to hurt his eyes.

She coughed raggedly a few times before looking at Annabeth fondly, gratefully. "Thank you," she rasped.

"If you don't mind me asking," Annabeth began quietly with clear intimidation, "who _are_ you?"

The angel blinked, catching her breath. "Rachel Elizabeth Dare, Raziel's angel of prophecy." As if on cue, two gold wings sprouted from her back with blinding light. Percy covered his face immediately, and even Annabeth flinched. It was then that she seemed to notice him. There was a burst of white light, and when he looked up, she had changed form. Her wings had dissipated into thin air, and her gown was shimmery and liquid gold anymore, instead opting for a plain, white frock with a gold lace trim. Her hair stopped glowing too, and it didn't look like a cloud anymore, only regular hair. Her freckles stopped glowing, turning into normal redder freckles, though they were still shaped like stars, and her eyes had lost the gold pupils and faded into a simple, dazzling green that could've belonged to any human.

"I hope it won't hurt anymore," she said, and her voice swirled around him like a melody.

Percy gaped. "Holy—"

She smiled weakly, her face still paler and thinner than what was healthy. "I must apologize, I suppose, for all the trouble you've surely been through due to my blood. You were a good mortal for so long, Perseus Jackson." She tilted her head at Annabeth. "And you still are, dear."

Annabeth fell to her knees, the burns on her hand probably getting to be too much. She held them up, palms-out.

Rachel brushed a tear off her face from her agonizing torture and dropped it onto Annabeth's skin.

The blonde's flesh glittered for a moment, and then it was normal again, even better actually. There were no more stains or scars or blemishes. Her hands were soft and clear and healthy and rosy once more, just like that.

"I'm assuming God's son is waiting for you to do what you must," Rachel continued, completely oblivious to Percy's stunned expression and Annabeth's amazement as she inspected her perfectly healed hands. "Just as the pond in New York is an entrance to the children of God, Lake Lyn in Idris is holy to Raziel too. If you wish to summon Hades, I would suggest offering my blood there."

"Idris?" Percy didn't even bother to ask how she knew what he had been sent to do. Something told him she knew all. There was a majestic, graceful, ancient, agelessness to her. She could probably read his mind of something.

She smiled kindly, and it was exactly how he had imagined an angel would appear: beautiful and inhuman, and maybe even a little impatient. The calmer counterpart of the banished fey. "It's hidden in Central Europe, between Germany, France, and Switzerland, invisible to the human eye, but the deserted home of when angels used to walk the earth. Because of the ancient wardings, humans who come close are instantly transported to the other end without knowing. The angels may have left, but Idris remains, a remnant of a bloodier history."

Annabeth's mouth was parted in astonishment. She was a sponge, always eager for information. "There were angels on this earth?"

Rachel's eyes crinkled at the corners in gentle amusement, but she was still wracked with fatigue. "Indeed, young one. They were not like me, and not like you either, but they were a cross, the descendants of Raziel. We called them Nephilim, but when their purpose was served, when they had rid the world of the demon spawn and minions of the princes of Hell, they left too. They are gone, but not forgotten. Idris is still beautiful, the city of glass, but it is occupied no longer. It is a ghost I can only hope will flourish once more someday."

Her eyes sparkled gold for a moment, like she was seeing the path way ahead of them, the future, both filled with a plethora of good and bad, the bad to balance the good, and the good to tame the bad, and there was a flicker of hope within her.

Percy wanted to hold onto that hope, _cling_ onto it, to preserve what patheticness was remaining of his sanity. Summoning his courage, he choked out, "Will you help us?"

Rachel's eyes flashed in thought. They were the mirrors to her soul, and they reflected her every thought, her shift in mood, her brain and heart. "I am not meant to concern myself in mortal affairs, just like Raziel himself." She paused. "But perhaps I can call Hades for you myself. I must return to him and Raziel nonetheless, and it would be an easy request to fulfill."

"There's going to be an all-out war," Percy quickly explained, desperate. "Your presence could stop it all. Please."

She tipped her head to one side. "I know, Perseus. I've known for a while."

He felt stupid all of a sudden. Of course she would. Angel of the prophecy. She was a seer, and she had known she would be entrapped too, surely. "Right," he conceded awkwardly.

"But for your troubles, as payment for my blood in your system, I shall help you. Just this once. When the first of the Nephilim summoned Raziel thousands of years ago, he gave him his assistance because he could see that his dream of a world free of demons was a true one, and so Raziel granted the Nephilim the ability to strike Heaven onto the damned until heaven became earth. Others have summoned me too, those with less charitable wishes and intentions. Those who dreamed only of their own glory—a word that belongs only to God himself. Those who did not truly love heaven, but linked their wish to it. Those like Luke Castellan, son of a sinner. A lineage does not make you, but I can see that your wish is true, so I shall help you," she decided. "And," Rachel continued softly, "I will grant you one wish, Perseus, as payment for coming to my aid, for hunting down my blood, and for freeing me."

Percy felt Annabeth's eyes on him. Suddenly, his throat felt very dry. Millions of thoughts raced through his brain. "Can I invoke it later? Can I have some time to think about what I want?"

Her painted lips curved up slightly. "Of course. Now come. We must hasten with so little time remaining."

"What do you mean?"

Rachel's face was hollow and sad. "The lycanthropes and children of the demons did not keep their promises. The wars have begun."

Before Percy could even feel horrified, her magic enveloped Annabeth and him both, transporting them to the heart of New York's ley lines, and depositing the three of them at the banks of Lake Lyn.

…

Nico worked quickly, supernaturally fast, as he piled dirt on top of the deceased warlocks. Next to him, he could see Will lighting up the candles with his fingertips and summoning the blood of past vampires. Will's shoulders were slumped in defeat, and his eyes were rimmed red with grief.

"I'm glad," said Will softly. "If they are gone to where we can no longer reach them, then I am glad they will be with you."

Nico swallowed thickly. "I'm sorry for your loss. It has been a hard day for us all, and I know the warlocks have suffered greatly."

Will just shrugged one shoulder. "We can't change it now."

"Indeed." Nico peered down at the lost warlocks, his chin tucked to his chest in mourning as a respectful silence filled the air. "They will be safe with me."

"I know," said Will. "I can't believe they'll remember being a warlock. I can't imagine waking up one day without my _powers._ They—they make me who I am," he choked out, his voice full of tears.

Nico put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He was not one for physical affection, but he had known Will for a century at least, and this was the kind of love they had reached—domestic and understanding without words. "They don't." His own gentleness surprised him, and Will too, it seemed. "You were Will before you learned to control your powers. It is a part of your identity, yet it does not make you who you are. I know who you are." His gaze burned as he looked at Will, who was tearful and upset.

Will nodded slowly. "Thank you," he amended. He wistfully, _painfully_ looked into the remaining graves Nico had yet to fill, and he stood over the last one, regretful and weighed down.

"May they find peace in another house."

Nico's eyes traced the curves of the final girl's cheeks, gaunt with illness and death. Her russet skin had lost all color and life, and here, she seemed just as harmless as a mortal girl. Her golden eyes were shut, courtesy of Will, and with her hands folded across her chest, she could've been sleeping. It was the most peaceful Nico had ever seen a warlock, and it was a shame it took falling from life to reach it.

He scooped up a shovel of dirt, raining it down on Hazel Levesque, the last in line of the graves of heroic warlocks.

He knew no one had bid farewell like a Nephilim in thousands of years, and he knew it shouldn't have applied to warlocks—only the Nephilim were allowed the name of God when they went to their final resting place—but he remembered his father, standing over Bianca's corpse, his shoulders low in grief and sympathy and something inhuman, but understanding.

Nico shut his eyes. " _Ave atque vale_ , Hazel Levesque. Hail and farewell."

…

Idris was beautiful, just as Rachel had promised, but it was very much a ghost town as well. Lake Lyn was like a mirror, glassy and perfectly reflective. Around them, they were surrounded entirely by the Brocelind Forest, a thick, plush woods with green as far as the eye could see.

Percy knelt at the shore, lining up most of Rachel's jars and tanks of blood, but Annabeth helped too. When they were finished, he looked to Rachel expectantly.

"Well?" She gestured to the water. "It's your blood that will stir his attention. I could fly up there, and he would not pay attention to my ichor." She smiled wryly.

Shakily taking a dagger she created out of thin air, Percy dragged the tip across his palm. His blood, ruby red, pooled in his fist, and he saw Annabeth wince for him, always over sympathetic. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration and offering his blood as a sacrifice into the shiny lake, he let his blood mar the flawless surface. He watched as it sunk further into the lake until it was no longer visible, and he couldn't feel the sting of the shallow cut anymore.

"I seek Hades, please," Percy hoarsely requested. He only felt marginally stupid talking to an inanimate lake, but a crack of light shot through the lake. For a bewildered moment, he felt like he was back at the manor, debris raining down on him like hail, but this was not like that.

It was raining _stars,_ and he wondered if it only rained in Idris now, or if the rain had spread all over the world so that they could see the beauty, glorious and cruel and destructive as well.

There was a burst of gold, a bright ball of light. He wanted to look away—knew he probably should—but he could not bear to. He wanted to see it all, for Hazel, for the warlocks, for the fey, for the vampires, and even for the werewolves who would not be able to. For those who had died much too quickly and too young. For those who could see no longer.

Annabeth's hands flew up to cover her face, unable to bear it, and Rachel dropped to her knees, her eyes wide open as well. There was a serene expression pasted on her face—knowing and beautiful—and Percy could not tear his eyes away. Perhaps her blood had been a curse, as he had previously thought, but it was a blessing too, and it was because of her that he could bear the light before them. The brilliant light was strange, mingled with black, mixing into something more beautiful. It was like yin and yang, equally balanced and utterly neutral.

The ball burst as the final stars, both black and gold, fell into the lake with a sizzle, and then he peered up at the remains. Suddenly, Percy's throat felt very dry, and his eyes salty. All he had lost and gained meant nothing in the presence of heaven, when it kissed the surface of earth like it did now.

Chills went down his spine at the sight before him, and then his _own_ name fell from the mouth of a divine being, and the chills changed to lightning bolts. He felt involuntary tears cling to his dark lashes, relieved and afraid and _exhausted_ and grateful.

Rachel dipped her head in respect at the figure before them.

"Perseus Jackson. I have been expecting you."


	10. Chapter 10

"G— will kill us," Calypso fretted.

"We're already damned." Nico chuckled humorlessly. "Nothing is off limits anymore." Technically speaking, warlocks _shouldn't_ have been resurrected. They'd never tried before, and it could go wrong. They could be resurrected with powers or something crazy—nobody really knew. But dire situations called for risky solutions. And he already knew he would spend the afterlife cheek to cheek in Hell with Mammon, Thalia's father. He still remembered crossing paths with the demon when he was just a boy, the ripe age of barely eleven:

_Mammon's eyes sparkled. "Well, well, well, what have we here?"_

_Nico blinked. How he had ended here, he didn't know. All he knew was that he had been standing in Heaven one moment, surrounded by the musical laughter, like jingling bells, of the angels, and then he had gotten lost along the way. He had fallen for God knows how long, and he had landed here. This was not Idris. He had meant to fall in Idris, and this was not the glass city._

_A city of fire, perhaps._

" _A son of God himself," Mammon crowed, sneering. He had no pupils, no irises. There was only a sheet of black, and an awful smirk on his face. The air was acidic, and Nico felt like he couldn't breathe. "I bet the wretched Nephilim love you, don't they? Prince of the Heavens."_

_Nico blinked again. His eyes stung from the acrid skies. It was cloudy above him, rumbling with black clouds, and the sky was blood red. Hell was a Sahara desert, only so much worse. Mammon's skin was cracked with black lines, smoke curling around him at every split, and it smelled like burning corpses. "Is this Edom?" There were far too many Hell realms to keep track of._

_Mammon's smile deepened. "Indeed. And how have you found your way here? Ready to join the dark side? Your angels won't let you back up there for a while if you're tainted with our skies."_

_Nico's eyes narrowed on his own shoulder. It was burning and sizzling where the clouds had touched him when he fell, plummeting toward Hell as quick as light. "It was an accident. I'm not meant to be here."_

" _No," Mammon rejected, his voice a dark growl. "We're_ all _meant to be here. Your angels know nothing, child."_

" _Aren't you going to kill me?" Nico finally asked. He was trespassing._

_Mammon laughed then, a booming, thunderous cackle. It reverberated through the land, and the sandy ground shuddered. Nico didn't flinch. "And risk the wrath of God, a wrath to rival my brother Satan's? No, thank you. You will be safe for an eternity, child, but if you do ever find yourself on the other side of a blade, or on your deathbed when you've passed my blink on an eye as you mortals do, know that Edom will always welcome you. You're quite funny. I wouldn't mind your company for a few thousand years."_

" _And then?" Nico asked boldly._

_Mammon spread his hands. His fingernails were clawed. "And then what? Then perhaps you'll visit my brothers. Lucifer would praise you for your pride. Or, if you would like to feast like a king, Belphegor will welcome you."_

_Nico's dark eyebrows knitted together. "I don't understand. Aren't you demons? Don't you revel in our suffering? Why would I be welcome here? Aren't I everything you despise?"_

" _No," he said again. "No, you don't understand. Don't you see, my boy? If God is the Almighty, if your father truly created and rules the universe, unmatched to any other, including my foolish brothers and myself, do you think he does validate Hell Himself? Don't you think he would eliminate Hell entirely if he thought individuals were exempt from any sort of suffering, if he thought everyone was perfect at deserved Heaven? You forget, in being sent to Hell, God had to close off Heaven."_

_Nico got this awful churning in his stomach. "What are you saying?"_

" _I'm saying your angels are fools, not unlike my brothers. I'm saying Hell exists because Hades wills it. I'm saying Hades controls Raziel who controls his angels, but Hades also controls my brothers and I."_

" _Hades created Hell?"_

" _Do you know the other name for Hell, my boy?"_

_Nico's heart raced. He shook his head, no. It seemed, now, that he hadn't known anything at all his entire life._

_Mammon grinned darkly. "The Underworld is also called Hades for a reason. Your father understands balance, that, for every good, there is every bad. That, for Heaven, there is Hell. All the stories are real, that much is fair. But not all the stories were true."_

_Nico reeled like he'd hit him. He desperately tried to drag air into his lungs, but he found that with each passing moment, it became more and more impossible._

_Pity flashed in Mammon's eyes, a glint of white in the dark, pure black abyss. "I'm sure the angels told you your father was perfect, didn't they? Even they don't know what I tell you. I'll trust you know how to keep your mouth shut. Heaven is a land for the naive, and Hell is a place for the knowing. Doubt doesn't make you a sinner—it makes you intelligent." His teeth gleamed, white and pointed. "We are all brilliant here. And we are all lonely."_

_He couldn't_ breathe.

" _I'm sure the air's getting to you too. No matter. Why don't you go ask that seer of yours—Rachel. Her angelic eye can see where you will be in five thousand years."_

" _I'll be dead," Nico tried to wheeze out, but it was hardly a whisper. He crumpled to his knees. He couldn't breathe at all._

_Mammoth stood. "Someday, my boy, you will be able to tolerate the air of Hell, of Edom. Someday you will be a prince of both Heaven and Hell. Someday you will be a child of God and of Hecate."_

Hecate? _Nico's mind spun._ What did she have to do with anything?

" _Ask her," Mammoth dared. "Ask Raziel's seer. She knows." He reached for Nico, and Nico was surprised that Mammoth's fire was a dim warmth rather than a burning agony when he scooped him up easily. "For now, I'll show you the way back to Idris. Your gold lungs won't last here."_

_Nico had so many more questions, but when he blinked again, he had passed out from oxygen deprivation. And when he came too, he lay by the banks of Lake Lyn, the glass city sparkling over him, Shadowhunters hovering him, concern etched into their features._

" _It's Nico! He has a mark of Mammon on his shoulder. How could God allow his son to fall into Hell at all?" It was a Nephilim girl with sleek, black hair and bright brown eyes. Her delicate features were twisted in a frown. He saw a flash of golden hair by her side, and the gleam of their daggers—seraph blades. He hadn't known it then, but one day she would grow up to fight alongside her brothers, both biological and adopted, and she would save the world. Panic flitted across her face now. "Alec! Alec, get Mom!"_

"Nico!"

Nico's head snapped to look at Calypso, who was gnawing on her bottom lip with worry. She swallowed noisily. "Do you think they'll be okay?"

He blinked slowly, trying to reground himself. Mammon had been right. In five thousand years, he stood now, and he could finally breathe Hell's air if he ever chose to see it again. He was one of Hecate's own—a vampire. His shoulder still stung with the scar of where Mammon's heat had burned him—a little circle like a gold coin for greed.

"Only one way to find out," he managed to say. He schooled his expression as he drew a dagger across the palm of his hand, letting the blood drop onto the freshly packed dirt.

There was a beat of silence, then wailing. Wailing of the vampires. He stepped back. It was crucial not to help them crawl out of their graves, to let them do it themselves.

A hand shot out of the closest grave, small and dark-skinned. It was still paler than it had been before. Next came a low, bubbly growl, low in the girl's throat. Next to her grave, another boy was rising too. He was digging himself out slower than her. She was determined. She was his to protect for all time, his new responsibility as their sire. _Welcome to the New York Clan, children of Hecate._

"Hand me the blood," Nico snapped, and Calypso quickly fetched the plastic bags of animal blood.

"Hazel Levesque," Nico greeted. "I'm sure you remember me, just in different circumstances. Drink," he demanded, and she drank, her eyes no longer gold as they had been as a warlock. They were a rich, chocolatey brown, but there was a gleam of gold from her bloodjust, just as Nico's turned red during his own, or Percy's turned electric sea green from regular sea green, or Atlas' turned lime. "Drink, fledglings, and I shall tell you of the impending war." Calypso was procuring fresh bags for the four resurrected former warlocks.

Nico twisted the skull ring on his finger. He wondered if Rachel had foreseen this too, if Mammoth was amused down below. Warlock vampires would be double the demon blood, without mortal blood, just like he was half God ichor and half demon blood, burned away of his mortality. He had high hopes for once in his life. "Drink, and then we shall see just what you can do."

…

Thalia slammed the lamp into the ground in frustration. It shattered in fat shards of glass. Will flinched. "They're outnumbering us," Thalia spat. "The fey and the werewolves have so many more than we do. Warlocks are the _smallest_ group, and vampires are too elite and prideful to make just anyone a vampire. You _know_ how much blood and lineage means to them."

Will nodded slowly. "So what do we do? We've got to send them crumbling somehow."

Thalia's eyes gleamed. "You go find Nico. See if the warlock resurrections were successful. Ask him what to do about Drew. The fey—there's just too many of them. He has this uncanny ability to predict what Drew's about to do before she does it, and if anyone can really get into her head, it's him. They have a history."

"And the werewolves?" He tilted his blond head to one side.

She cracked her knuckles. "There's only one way to beat the werewolves. They're dogs, a pack. They rely on leadership and hierarchy, not unlike the vampires, but even more extremely."

Will's features pinched with understanding. "Send me a fire message when it's over."

She grinned darkly. "Oh, you'll know. You'll hear the howls in the streets." Her black magic swarmed around her, a thick fog that automatically came when her emotions hit the ceiling. She smiled, and then she was gone.

…

Percy was surprised by how less it hurt to look at Hades than it had to look at Rachel. He had expected God to shine as bright as a thousand lights if his angels were even a fraction of his power, but he did not shine at all. He didn't even wear white. He was twelve feet tall, looming over them.

And he was shocked, most surprisingly, by the clear cut resemblance to Nico. Hades had the same ink black hair and chocolate brown eyes—so dark that Percy couldn't quite tell where the pupil ended and the iris began, dark enough to drown in. His skin was olive, just like Nico's, except healthier, whereas Nico was pale as a sheet from vampirism and thousands of years of cowering from the sunlight.

With dusk falling upon them, the golden sun turning orange on Lake Lyn's surface—it had far longer to track down Rachel and free her than he had expected—Hades was a symbol of balance. He was draped in darkness, but there was something ageless and sympathetic in his eyes.

Percy swallowed thickly. _I have been expecting you._ "Then you'll help us?" he pleaded, his mouth dry. "You'll take the blood?"

Hades' face didn't change, indifferent. It made Percy more uneasy than he'd been moments before. He was hardly aware of Annabeth on his left and Rachel on his right. To him, it was just himself and God, his mistakes laid bare between them.

_Why should I?_

Percy jerked back. It was the most bizarre situation to have an immortal speak in one's head rather than out loud. Hades' mouth did not even move, but he had received the thought nonetheless. Percy glanced over at Rachel, who was still regarding Hades seriously, like they were both having a conversation without his knowledge, and Annabeth, who was staring at him blankly. She had not heard Hades, then. Perhaps, Percy thought as he glanced back up at God, it was because Hades had intended only for his ears to hear it.

"Because," Percy began, "it was your son who asked."

Hades raised an eyebrow. _Do you not want me to take it then?_

"No! No, I do. But it is your son's favor, and I had hoped you would take it off my hands far easier if I invoked Nico's name." He thought the corner of Hades' lips twitched, but maybe it was just his imagination.

_I do not indulge in favors, Perseus. Not even those of my own children._

Children, Percy thought discouragingly, remembering Nico's story of Bianca. The other Daylighter. "Then perhaps a plea," he realized. "If you do not indulge favors, then surely the just God Himself will grant the desperate wish of a child."

 _You wield heaven, Perseus. You wield sister Dare's blood. You are no child._ A gentle reminder, but a firm one.

"But I am." It was Annabeth, who had been allowed to hear the last part presumably. "I am a child of God, am I not? I'm entirely human." She trembled on her knees. The hem of her jeans was damp from the shores of the lake. "I beg you to take the blood. I am not fit to guard it from the sins of mankind and the supernatural," she pleaded, and it was a punch to the gut to watch her hubris crumble in the face of God. Percy was stunned.

 _Clever,_ Hades permitted. _I will take the blood. It is no burden to me. Send my warmest regards to my son. I hope he knows what he's doing._

Rachel had told him God and Raziel did not immerse themselves in human and demon politics, but perhaps he would make an exception, just this once. "Will you grant the end of the war?" Percy asked, watching with fascination as the jars of blood and tanks vanished before his very eyes, sinking into Lake Lyn at Hades' will. "Will you help us?"

Hades stiffened, turning cold. _No. Rachel was correct; God does not interfere in mortal affairs. In fact, neither should she._ He peered pointedly at Rachel, who flinched. _She sympathizes with you too much. It is your own blessing, Perseus. Do not take her charity for granted._

No, he would not. He nodded hastily. "I don't mean to be disrespectful, sir, but if we are all under your watch, then why would you not end a dooming war?" He thought of what Nico had said, what he had felt when he had talked about another supernatural war a long time ago, one that wiped out over half of each faction.

 _Perhaps that is a question you should be asking yourself,_ Hades said, gentler now. _Seer,_ he acknowledged. He said something else, but it was blurry in Percy's ears, probably because it was only meant for Rachel.

"Sir," said Rachel.

Then Hades was gone with a gust of cold air, taking the blood with him, and the lake was still again. Annabeth stood shakily to her feet. Percy nearly did the same. They had to get back to the war. Rachel had promised she would help bring it to an end, and for the first time, Percy realized she might've agreed, not only because she was sympathetic, but because she saw an ugly version of the world in the aftermath of the war, and she wanted to prevent that path. It was a numbing thought.

But when Percy went to rise, a little paper fluttered into his palms, carried by the wind of Hades' departure. He unfolded it hastily—it was beginning to disintegrate, not meant to be touched by him—and it crinkled in between his fingers. Scrawled in dark writing, it said:

_If you are a child, then who am I?_

It vanished entirely before he could show Annabeth or Rachel. Besides, something told him it was meant for his eyes only.

"We better hurry," he said, standing up. "You need to stop the war."

Rachel tipped her head to one side. " _You_ need to stop the war. I'll help you," she assured, "but I am not the hero of this story."

He blinked at Annabeth, whose lips pressed tightly together in grim agreement.

"Let's hope werewolves listen to reason," he said, and he shut his eyes at Rachel's bright light as they were teleported to the vampire mansion. All he could think about was Nico's orders not to return after midnight, and of all the ways he had defied despite his promises. This was the one time, he thought, that not following orders would pay off. Or at least, he hoped so.

…

"Alpha."

"High warlock. I've got to hand it to you—I didn't see this one coming. Warlocks have always been friends of all but the fey, those devils, and you taking the vampire side was uncalled for."

Thalia smiled with her teeth. "I like to think of myself as unpredictable. It's nice to know others see me the same way. Do you stand down?"

"Why would I stand down?"

"What would your precious pack do without us? Without our magic and healing and power? Bleed to death?" Thalia pointed out.

Reyna hardened. They both knew she was right. An alliance with the warlocks was not one meant to be taken lightly. Or a rivalry. "We'll make do, just as we did before the peace treaties."

Reyna's delta squirmed in Thalia's grasp. She kicked the backs of his calves. He was strong, physically overpowering her any day, but he was no match for her black magic. "Tell your boy to quit squirming, and this will go so much easier."

Reyna's dark eyes flitted to Beckendorf, who was chained with shadows on the ground, forcefully surrendered like a dog.

"Don't—Alpha—" he choked out, his eyes burning with hatred for Thalia. "Don't yield. It was an honor to serve you."

Reyna couldn't look away, not even when a silver dagger appeared out of thin air in Thalia's fist and slashed across his throat. Beckendorf crumpled to the ground, a sack of flesh and bones and muscle. The silver would claim his life in just a few moments, enhanced by Thalia.

"We could've been friends. In another life." Reyna wasn't crying—alphas did not allow themselves weakness like that—but they grieved the same as humans. Thalia had known it to be true from day one. Faeries were cruel by nature and blood; warlocks were so used to immortality and magic that they were not s normal; vampires were too concerned with heritage and hierarchy to care; but werewolves lived the regular lifespan of a human. Every moment was precious to them, and their death meant so much more.

"I suppose this is the part where you avenge him," said Thalia.

Reyna didn't answer, pouncing instead. Through the air, she shifted, her clothes falling to the ground with a loud tear. Her hands turned to claws, and her face changed to a snout with sharp, canine teeth. Her eyes were still dark, but there was a primal anger in them that was only half concealed in human form. Her fur was glorious—the darkest of blacks and glossy under the dim light.

"They told me you were good," Thalia panted. "They didn't tell me _how_ good." She slashed wildly with the dagger she'd retrieved from Charles Beckendorf's corpse, and so the fight began.

…

"Watch out!"

Percy shoved Annabeth out of the way as a werewolf leapt through the air, their white fur billowing in the cold wind. He recognized the dark eyes and soft coat immediately—Frank. And, worse, he recognized the victim.

Her hair was like liquid, like ink spilling, as she cracked into the ground loudly. Her blood, garnet red, was unnaturally bright, and her once bright blue eyes were dull and lifeless.

Annabeth gagged at the wretched, explicit sight.

Percy sunk to his knees. "Oh my G—" His throat burned like usual. He surveyed the grass and the streets, littered with bodies: werewolves, faeries, vampires, and warlocks. Somewhere off to his left, he saw a flash of gold blast into a crowd of werewolves. It was Hazel, except it wasn't the Hazel he had heard of. She was a _vampire_ , and somehow she'd retained her ability to wield magic. Percy thought he was going to be sick. He cradled Silena in his arms. He had never hated her too much, not like how he disliked the others like Atlas. She had been more tolerant, even when he'd messed up, and she had not been nearly as intrusive.

"Oh, G—" he kept repeating, unable to stop himself, even if he couldn't say it properly, even if his mouth felt like it was on fire. Nobody deserved to die like this. He scrambled to his feet. "How do I get their attention? How do I tell them Luke framed everyone out of jealousy without throwing Thalia under the bus? How do I get their _attention?"_

Annabeth pointed up at the balcony in the front of the mansion. Nico's window. Of course. Higher ground got the most attention. He scrambled to his feet, and then he grabbed the brick, beginning to scale the panels until he was standing on the marble balcony. He helped Annabeth up, and Rachel easily floated up.

He could scream, he thought, but no one would pay him attention. No, but it was dark. Sometimes, all it took was a little light to be shed on the violence.

"Change, please," he asked Rachel. "Change, and it may blind them, but it'll draw their attention."

Rachel eyed him warily, curiously, and then she changed back into the heavenly form he had found her in. Wings shot out of her bang, long and white, and the gold shimmering on her returned. It shone so brightly that it could've been daylight everywhere, and he heard screams of the damned from the bright light, and not just from vampires.

"Don't kill them," he requested.

She obliged dimming slightly. It hardly mattered; he had all of their attention now.

"The Daylighter!" some girl shouted, a faerie. Her eyes gleamed hungrily. "It's _your_ fault we've lost so many. Get him!"

"Percy!" It was Nico. He was furious, his eyes glowing red, probably because he directly defied orders.

"Percy?" Calypso. Concern filled her sad eyes, and his heart clenched. And then fear. Fear of the angel.

"You dare bring Heaven here?" Reyna. She scowled. "You bring an angel to a supernatural fight. You shame every vampire with your existence, and every supernatural being. We are not beholden to her or any of Heaven when they shunned us."

Rachel didn't move next to him.

He ignored them all. "Stop, stop fighting all of you. The blood is gone."

"Thief!" Atlas. "You hog all the blood for yourself."

Percy wouldn't have seen it if he had blinked, but he hadn't. Nico was there in a minute, slamming the hilt of blade through Atlas' back. He gasped, blood pooling in his mouth and rolling down his chin. His eyes rolled back so that there were only the whites of his eyes visible, and he fell to his knees.

"Good riddance," he heard Calypso mutter. Everyone else outside of the clan was promptly horrified ( excluding jaded Drew of course), including Annabeth.

"He killed his own!" Annabeth hissed under her breath, and Percy squeezed her arm to shut her up. She didn't understand that hierarchy took precedence over everything. Nico could do as he pleased, and they were all supposed to agree. She didn't understand that every vampire below had just heard what she'd said, and maybe a few of the wolves with keener hearing.

"Do _not_ speak ill of the Daylighter in my presence," Nico said in disgust, letting Atlas fall face-first to the grass.

Percy swallowed nervously, expecting Nico to erupt on him next for coming there in the first place, but he did no such thing. The son of God's gaze was piercing and unnerving. He crossed his arms, leaning against a tree trunk, a glimmer of pride in his dark, cold exterior. Percy swallowed again, harder and more painfully this time—saying _God_ so many times, or trying to, had hurt something awful.

"I did not consume the blood for my own," Percy declared. His voice was less shaky than he had anticipated, and it pleasantly surprised him. "I returned it to Hades."

Chaos broke out immediately, words spreading like wildfire. It was so overwhelming for his sensitive ears to catch everything that he nearly plugged his with his index fingers. "Everyone, stop," he said, but he was overlooked, drowned out by the noise. Rachel's left wing scraped his arm, and he hissed, pulling away. Her touch still burned. She apologized immediately, but he couldn't even _hear_ her over the commotion.

Annabeth nodded to herself, and then she clambered onto the railing, cupping her hands around her mouth.

"Annabeth, what are y—"

"EVERYONE, SHUT THE FUCK UP."

He cringed, his hands flying to his ears, but, much to his amazement, the field of people fell dead silent. He could've heard a pin drop. Before someone snarkily commented on her humanness, he swooped in to continue talking.

"As I was saying, the blood has been returned. Frankly, it's disquieting you've all turned to war so quickly when the vampires only ever intended to return the blood back to Heaven. It's not ours for the taking, nor anyone else's here besides Rachel."

She nodded at him encouragingly.

"Then who took it?" It was Frank. For once, he did not seem as threatening. He was dressed in a warm hoodie, and he was just simply confused. Lost. Maybe even concerned.

Percy stilled. "We've all been framed," he began, and he talked about how a warlock had done it all for his father, how he had been so lost in Thalia's shadow that he had tried to appease to Lucifer however he could, how none of them had actually killed each other, how all of the blood was on that warlock's hands. "And then he ran off," Percy finished, meeting the eyes of the stunned crowd. He had been succinct and eloquent, and even Annabeth had a hint of a smile of sheer pride once he was finished. "It's stupid to fight. We all bleed when we're cut. We're not indestructible, and we all just want what's best for our kinds. If you're unhappy, we'll renegotiate the treaties and the property lines. I'm willing to bend and change with everyone here." Some people still seemed unsure, but there was a growing hope in the crowd.

Nico stepped forward first, his eyes twinkling. "I pledge myself to building a newer Downworld," he said. He half-smiled at Percy, and it was the kindest Percy had ever seen him.

"And I," Thalia agreed. She shared a look with Reyna, and then she created a white sheet out of thin air and laid it tenderly upon Beckendorf's corpse, covering him. A peace offering.

Reyna paused, thinking. "Me too."

"Drew?" It was Nico. "I trust you'll no longer want to be an outsider."

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he had the audacity to smile, actually fucking grin. He looked so young then, like he was barely fourteen, and Drew rolled her eyes. Percy wanted to know the story behind it, wanted to know why they knew each other so well, but that would have to wait till later. He mentally tacked it onto his growing list of inquiries. There was a familiarity between Rachel and Nico too, and he could only assume they knew each other because Nico had visited Heaven himself. That, too, Percy wanted to hear about. He wanted to know what it looked like, what it felt like to be in Heaven. Nico was just a small young man full of stories and secrets and rage, and… and rare kindness, and Percy couldn't help the way his lips curved into a small smile at their contagious emotions. He never would've thought he'd feel so fondly for a gothic (and slightly emo) ageless vampire in the body of a tiny boy, but he did. And he didn't regret it one bit. Nico's personality was odd, if not endearing, and he thought he could finally see him as Calypso saw him.

Percy cleared his throat when Nico waited for him to continue, impatiently gesturing. "Our first business would be holding Luke accountable, but, unfortunately, none of us know where he—"

Behind him, the balcony exploded in fire. The explosion sent Annabeth reeling, and she slid to the corner of the balcony. Right over the edge.

"Percy!" she cried.

He went to grab her, but he was too slow. For once in his life, he was too slow, and he would pay for it.

She was a blur of blonde hair and a shrill scream as she plummeted from a fatal height. Everything in Percy froze, paralyzed. Then he saw a flash of black hair below, and Nico was there, his hair falling into his eyes. He reached out like he was going to catch her, but that wouldn't be enough. The velocity of the fall would crush them both, killing her instantly, and badly injuring Nico. Percy's heart was in his mouth.

There was a flash of light. At first, he thought Rachel had saved her, but no, that didn't make sense. She could not intervene in the future, could not be involved. Percy's jaw dropped open.

There stood Nico, light pouring out of him like water, floating like a cloud and catching Annabeth. It evaporated under her once she was safe, and she slid, falling onto her ass. She blinked her large, wide eyes, shocked.

"What the _fuck?_ " Calypso. Percy found himself agreeing.

Neither Will nor Thalia blinked. Perhaps they'd already known the extent of his godly abilities. Annabeth's mouth was agape as she sat in the damp grass.

"Are you alright?" Nico's eyebrows furrowed, and he reached a hand out to help her up. She took it, stunned, and Percy was honestly impressed. He had said it so _smoothly_ that Percy was almost jealous, and if this had been a romcom, and it was Nico and Annabeth, and Nico didn't exude Disaster Gay™ vibes, and Annabeth was some weakling who wouldn't survive the winter, this moment would've fit perfectly in that movie.

"You just—" she sputtered, allowing him to ease her to her feet.

"Yeah, I know."

"I thought nobody else was allowed to know—"

"Yeah, it's okay."

" _How_ did y—"

"Let it go, Annabeth." Nico inspected her one last time, as if checking for injuries that didn't exist, and, satisfied that she was unharmed, he let her go.

Percy spun around. The fire had dissipated quickly, much to his relief. Nico would probably kill him for burning down the mansion if the fire didn't kill him first. The relief too, though, when he saw who was standing in its place. He held a sword to Percy's flesh, his blue eyes alight with anger. His bottom lip trembled, but his hand was steady.

Percy slowly moved his hand up to grab the sword. It cut his hand, but he pushed it back an inch from his neck. He peeked up at the boy across from him; he would've known him anywhere, would've recognized that voice, broken and bitter, anywhere.

And he whispered, "Luke."

…

For the first time ever, Rachel's expression burned with pure loathing. Of course, Percy thought, this was the boy who had tormented her for days together.

"You," she spat, her pink lips curling. It was worse than Annabeth's glare (which he found cute, though he'd never say it out loud for fear of being smited), or Nico's burning, death sentence expression. It was inhumane, and it looked like a faerie with a lot of power, _too_ much power.

Luke's voice was eager when he saw her. Intimidated, as he should've been, but eager nonetheless. "Glorious One. I pray you've seen my view by now, that you are ready to strike down the Downworld. My father says the rest are damned, and if there are none at all, then I shall finally be the best, at your service forever. I intend to restore myself to my former glory—"

"Glory?" she echoed. The word sounded strange in her mouth. "Glory belongs to God alone." Percy could've sworn the angel's voice had taken on a dry tone. "Do you intend to challenge heaven as your father once did and pay the full price for it, warlock?"

"Not to challenge heaven, no, Angel. To ally myself with heaven—"

"In a war of your making? We are heaven, warlock. We do not fight in your battles."

When Luke spoke again, he sounded almost hurt. "Sister Dare. Surely you would not have allowed one to summon you if you did not intend to be summoned. I need your guidance. The Downworld is a chaotic, soulless place, and if I restore it to its former peace by eliminating it entirely, my father will praise me, and the heavens will finally be at rest from our cruelty."

"Guidance?" Now she was amused. "That hardly seems to be the reason why you called me down weeks ago. You sought rather your own renown."

"Renown?" Luke's voice was hoarse. "I have given everything for this cause. I have nearly given my own life."

"And no one asked you to," she said sourly. "You do not love heaven. You cherish your father's twisted praise, a ploy to watch you dance before him, before you worship a cleansed earth. You are drunk on jealousy, on envy of a girl who helped unite the Downworld, and I'm surprised you are born of Pride and not of Envy. Beelzebub would seem far more appropriate."

Luke blanched. And suddenly, Percy feared _for_ him. Rachel seemed to grow more angry with every word, and when she smiled, it was the most terrible smile he had ever seen. He remembered Hades then, warning him not to take Rachel's sympathy for granted.

Luke's eyes widened, just as Silena's eyes had widened before she'd died. He had gone bone white. He turned slowly to face the angel, raising his hands in a gesture of supplication. "Angel Dare—"

Rachel opened her mouth and spat. Or at least that was how it seemed to Percy—that the angel spat, and that what came from her mouth was a shooting spark of white fire, like a burning arrow, or a lightning bolt. The arrow flew straight and true across the balcony and buried itself in Luke's chest. Or maybe "buried" wasn't the word—it tore through him, like a rock through thin paper, leaving a smoking hole the size of a fist. For a moment Percy, staring up, could look through Luke's chest and see the marble and the shimmery glow of the angel beyond.

The moment passed. Like a fallen tree, Luke crashed to the ground and lay still—his mouth open in a silent cry, his blind eyes fixed forever in a last look of incredulous betrayal.

"That was the justice of heaven. I trust that you are not dismayed."

Percy looked up. Rachel hovered over him, like a tower of white flame, blotting out the sky. "I must return home now," she said. "Raziel will be expecting me, and I have faith that you will do your job, that this future will be a better one. You have a great deal to negotiate. I hope your mortal friend's mouth is as quick as her wit."

Percy glanced down at Annabeth, who was paralyzed and stunned like the rest. Luke's black blood was dripping over the marble, staining it. Maybe Nico would kill him for that too. Maybe with gold magic, maybe not. He, unsurprisingly, had a lot of questions. Every time he thought he was getting a handle on everything, something always came out of nowhere and surprised him. After all, it had taken thousands of years for Nico to become this indifferent.

"I gave you time to think. You can compel me to one action, Perseus Jackson. What is it that you want?" There was a gentleness to her voice now.

Percy opened his mouth, but he closed it just as quickly, at a loss for words.

"If you have a request, Daylighter, speak it now." Rachel paused. "And remember that I am not a genie. Choose your desire wisely." Her eyes had lost all regular white or pupil, and they were only a sheet of white light, empty and bright.

Percy hesitated—only for a moment, but the moment stretched out as long as any moment ever had. He could ask for anything, he thought dizzily, anything—an end to pain or world hunger or disease, or peace on earth. He thought of Hades when he had himself asked God why He wouldn't end an impending war. _Perhaps that is a question you should be asking yourself._ He had left him a note: _If you are a child, then who am I?_ If humanity were children, then Hades was the guardian, the father, the parent, the one who watched over them and taught them to grow. Good guardians did not spoon feed one the answers. No, they gave their children the tools to figure it out themselves. He could've asked to end pain or world hunger or disease, or for peace on earth. But then again, perhaps these things weren't in the power of angels to grant, or they would already have been granted. And perhaps people were supposed to find these things for themselves.

He was thinking of asking for mortality back, or to not be a Daylighter with a target on his back, or to meet his dad Poseidon who had walked out one day and never came back, or to feel normal again.

He was aware of his friends eyeing him, awaiting what they believed was inevitable, but he had eyes only for Rachel now, waiting to soar back up in the sky like a star and join Raziel once again.

The trees were bone dry, Rachel's glow sparkling through them. It would be morning soon.

He looked at Annabeth Chase who loved him despite his faults and supernatural ways. He thought of how it felt to lie next to Annabeth, the daylight streaming onto his skin, her pressing kisses into the nape of his neck. He thought of how he had held Calypso's hand in his own and known he was not as alone as he sometimes felt. He thought of how he had sat across from Nico and Thalia when he'd first come to as a reborn creature, them joking about Nico's personal vendetta against soap dispensers, of how Thalia seemed to have a new alcoholic concoction every time she showed up. He thought of how Will had enthusiastically inspected him, adopting him as his new science project.

He thought about how he'd never see them again if he turned mortal, how the glamours would keep their paths from ever crossing again.

He thought about Grover, and Jason, and Piper who he loved with all his heart, however unbeating, and he thought of how he wanted to see them all once this was all over, how he wanted to binge Vampire Diaries with Piper some more. He thought of Paul, and Estelle, and his mom who had been there for him since the very beginning, who had endured Gabe's abuse so that he'd be safe. He had told Annabeth he was tired of living a lie, and he was ready to try now. Again. With her, and with his mother, and with everyone he loved.

He thought of how they'd die someday while he was cursed to still be alive.

He thought about the Seelie Queen who was perhaps a little cruel, if not misunderstood from her excessive years of living, and Chiron who had been driven mad by the years. He thought of Frank and Reyna who protected their pack, and that, even if he didn't like them, they were just looking out for their family as he looked out for his. He thought of Kronos, Hazel, Silena, Beckendorf, and countless others who had sacrificed themselves or had _been_ sacrificed to a war they never wanted to be a part of. Some of them lived differently now, and some did not live at all, and both were punches to the gut. They had ceased to fight now, all coming to terms with Luke's clever framing, and he could only hope they would be just as courteous while renegotiating their peace agreements.

And finally, he thought of Luke, spiteful and forgotten like no one ever should be. Luke who had tried to watch the world burn for the love of a father. Percy understood that much, at least. Luke who had only ever been second best to a daughter of Mammon. Luke who had been tired of being a shadow to a flame, who had snapped like no one had expected, who had drowned in the fire he'd created. Percy prayed Hades would have mercy on him.

Lastly, he looked at Rachel. He _had been_ thinking of asking for mortality back, or to not be a Daylighter with a target on his back, or to meet his dad Poseidon who had walked out one day and never came back, or to feel normal again.

_One wish, one wish, one wish._

Here, surrounded by the carnage of Lucifer's pride, Beelzebub's envy, Satan's wrath, Abaddon's sloth, Mammon's greed, Belphegor's gluttony, Asmodeus' lust, and surrounded by the faith in Hades' justice, Raziel's mercy, and Rachel's optimistic third view into the future, a hopeful, beautiful place full of possibilities, he was quiet. They fell apart, but he wanted to watch it rebuild someday too. He wanted to have a hand in the rebirth of a world worth saving.

When it was over, Percy wanted to be able to say he was married all his life to the amazement that was the fine balance between life and death. When it was over, he didn't want to regret a single part, not growing old in the soul, not sighing in frustration, ready to argue every second of every day. When it was over, he didn't want to wonder whether he had lived fully, if he had made this invisible life real to him, or if he had made a mistake.

He didn't want to have simply visited this world.

He didn't want to be mortal. He didn't want to change. He wanted to embrace what he had and make the most of it and know that, yes, someday, somewhere, people would die. Perhaps even the other immortals would go before him. Perhaps his mortal family would perish first. Perhaps it would ache something awful to watch it happen and remain unscathed, but he had been placed in this position for a reason.

Raziel had watched as Luke's minions injected Rachel's blood into him, and he had done nothing. He had allowed it to happen. He had let it be for a reason.

Rachel had known it would happen, and yet she had done naught to prevent it. She too, the seer of a future, both gritty and glorious, had let it be.

Perhaps it was time Percy let it be.

Rachel's expression softened in understanding. In fact, it was the kindest and most human he had ever seen an angel look, and the white around her was not quite as harsh anymore. Let the worst he ever did to anyone be die. Let the morning have them, consuming them wholly, and the afternoon. He was aware of his defects enough to know it was probable he committed many errors, and he also knew that someday, somewhere he would look back upon them in sweet indulgence. For now, he was here, blessed, capable of more.

And he smiled.


	11. Outtakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some outtakes. It's not really an epilogue like some of you guys thought, but more like a series of unrelated scenes that got cut. (I did answer a lot of last chapter’s review questions in my end A/N though). I almost always have outtakes for all my stories, but this story had a lot more since I constricted it to 10 chapters, so I decided to post them all.
> 
> I separated it into canon and non-canon outtakes. The canon outtakes still follow the “canon” plot of this story, and I just didn’t include because I couldn’t fit it in, but the non-canon outtakes follow an entirely different plot, so they’re things that could’ve happened if I had written things differently, but ultimately didn’t.
> 
> Disclaimer: Credit to danielkanhai and thesushiowl whose two posts gave me two one-liners, inspiring two of these scenes in the first place.

**Canon:**

**In which Rachel and Nico go way, way,** _ **way**_ **back:**

"There you go, kiddo," said Rachel, sitting in a shiny, gold throne off to the left of Raziel somewhere. The throne room erupted into hearty laughter. Nico had always thought it sounded a bit like bells when they laughed, like what the faeries sounded like, dancing in their sparkly courtyards.

Nico peered at the glass she'd pushed toward him. It had a fun, silver straw in it. He looked up at her suspiciously. He liked Rachel. She had pretty hair, and she smiled nicely at him, and sometimes she'd let him share her throne with her when all the angels were talking. "What is it?" he asked, blinking at her.

"Nectar," Rachel replied. "It tastes good. Just try it."

He sat at the foot of her throne while Rachel laughed at something someone had said. He had no idea where Bianca was, only that it was calm here, and he wished she'd hurry up and come hang out with him. He was getting awfully bored.

He sipped curiously. It tasted like his mama's cannolis, so he drank more of it.

"And?" It was Rachel, hiding a smile. She ruffled his hair. Usually, Nico didn't like it when people touched him, but Rachel was okay. She got to be an exception.

"It's good," he said, albeit reluctantly.

She grinned. "Yes, it is. Now, come on. Your father's probably wondering where you've gone off to. You're quite the explorer, aren't you?" She stood up, towering over him, and held out her hand. He ignored it, holding the glass with both hands instead. He barely came up to her waist. He didn't say anything either. "And you don't talk much either. Not like your sister," she speculated as they walked through the marble and glass and gold castle in the sky. The hallways were long and confusing, and sometimes he got stuck in the clouds and had to fight his way out, but for the most part he liked it almost as much as Italy. "Go slower on the nectar," she advised. "You'll feel sick otherwise."

He stared her in the eye and then promptly chugged every last drop.

...

**In which Nico might be a little too trigger-happy for a two year old with godly abilities:**

"Stop screaming," Rachel begged, "or your father's going to _kill_ me."

Nico shrieked some more, just for the hell of it. He shook his hand, and gold clouds came out. Interesting. He shook it some more, and then the clouds slammed into his bedroom wall.

Bianca was giggling on his bed, completely indifferent to Rachel's panic. "Do it again!" She popped some ambrosia into her mouth.

Nico obliged, and more clouds came out. This time, they smacked Rachel in the face. She was covered head to toe in gold dust, along with his entire room.

" _What_ is going on in here?" Hades demanded, bursting into the room.

The three of them froze.

He took one look at Rachel, his esteemed angel with manners and grace, who was holding Nico upside down by one foot while he clawed at her face and tried to escape. Then he looked at the room, which was completely trashed by Nico's involuntary magic. Then he looked at Bianca, who had turned her ambrosia into potato chips. She slowly crunched the chips in her mouth so that it wasn't too loud in the dead silence, her eyes wide at being caught.

"He's being impossible," Rachel protested immediately. "He doesn't listen to anything I say, and he keeps using his powers. You have to teach him how to control them."

Nico grinned, uncaring.

"Rachel called him a hellraiser," Bianca blurted.

Rachel glowered at her, huffing. "Snitch."

Hades raised one eyebrow. "Interesting choice of words." He scooped up Nico, who went pliant in father's arms. His lips twitched with vague amusement. "What on earth am I going to do with you?" he asked no one in particular. "Someone's been a lot of trouble. Rachel's not the only to complain about you, you know." He opened the door, taking them out into the hallway, and Nico shifted to be more comfortable. He only shrugged. "Raziel said you wouldn't stop trying to eat his wings." He brushed a little gold of his son's face fondly. His expression was remorseful and reluctant. "Perhaps I should send you and your sister to spend more time with Maria, after all. Italy has grand fields for you to run around in, and you won't get stuck like you do in the clouds."

Nico peered past his father's shoulder, looking out at the blue sky. He sat on the ledge, his feet dangling far, far below. Together, they watched the clouds pass by, and it was serene.

...

**In which we find out what Nico paid Drew for the information on both Ethan McNamara and Percy's transformation into a Daylighter in Ch. 7:**

"You faeries are always so hungry for other people's pain," Nico said, surprisingly calm. He had dismissed Calypso a while back. This was only between him and Drew. "I don't make deals with faeries, Drew."

"You used to." She blinked innocently.

Indeed, he had. "Times change and so do people," he said nonchalantly. "You would know."

She grinned devilishly. "Oh, come on, sweetpea. I've saved you so many times. What's one more deal?"

Nico scowled. "And I have long paid off my debts. We are balanced. You know it too. I owe you nothing."

She tilted her head to one side. "You once owed me your life," she reminded him. "You stood on the edge of the fiery River Phlegethon with a stake in your hand, and I saved you."

He gritted his teeth together and said, "And I have paid that too. Don't make shit up, Drew."

She shrugged again, running a fingernail down his cheek, right over his heart, right where the stake would've killed him. He shuddered despite himself. "But you know knowledge is power. You know only I can tell you what you need. That, or daddy, and daddy isn't the most reliable, is he?"

She certainly knew how to hit him where it hurt. "Neither is _mommy_ ," he spat, and he grinned darkly when she flinched, the blow landing perfectly. He spread his hands, feeling that he had very much balanced to scales towards him again, feeling like he was once more in control. "Fine. I'll play along. What do you want for the information?"

Nico still remembered the day he had met her. He had been a couple thousand. She had seen him at a tavern in London, the Devil's Tavern. He had been bloody and broken and bruised. No one had spared him a second glance, intent on drinking and chasing the highs of life. He had known of her, of course. Just as it was for him, who didn't know Drew Tanaka, Seelie Queen? Some said she was as old as God Himself, but Nico had never asked. He and his father didn't speak anymore, not since his life had gone wrong a thousand ways. She had been so pretty, he remembered. She still was, if not in a crueler way. But she was not the person he had wanted. She ordered them both mead.

" _It's alright, you know," she said, pursing her lips._

_Nico eyed the drink warily, then her. "Excuse me?"_

" _It's alright," she said again, not explaining further._

_Nico chuckled humorlessly. "In my experience, Your Highness, things are rarely alright."_

_The corner of her lips quirked up. "Perhaps," she permitted. "But I think you'll find my experience is far more expansive than yours. Do you need a place to stay?"_

_Nico narrowed his eyes at her. "How did you know that?"_

_She shrugged. "I have my sources. Just answer the question."_

" _Yes."_

" _Faerieland is beautiful, you know. You could stay for a little while."_

" _At what price?" Nico sneered. "Excuse me for not trusting a faerie,_ especially _not the queen."_

_She nodded. "Clever," she appreciated. "But not clever enough to keep you safe from the mobs and riots, I'm afraid. If you need a place to stay," she said again, "let me know. Consider it a favor. I will ask for it to be returned another time, not now."_

_Nico scowled._

_She raised a fine eyebrow. "You can lay with your boy there."_

_He didn't know it at the time, but he would go on to spend at least a year in Faerie, reveling with the creatures, drinking with Drew. He froze, his jaw going slack. "Excuse me? How did you—"_

"I _want,"_ Drew said haughtily, "a memory. Life is quite mundane, Nico, darling. I would like something to bring me joy."

Nico cocked an eyebrow. "From taking mine?"

"You're not a joyous man," she reasoned, smiling terribly.

He nodded. It was not a cruel thing to say, not when it was the truth. "I suppose not. Which memory?"

"Your sister," Drew said.

Nico was stunned. The thought of parting with Bianca, even in his mind, was appalling. She was the _one_ thing he had held onto, so tightly, through the years. He was not surprised Drew knew about her, however.

Drew caressed her rose across his cheek. "Come now, dear. Surely you want to know how Percy got his Daylighter abilities. Surely even you would sacrifice one puny memory for the good of your entire kind," she crooned.

Nico's face hardened. He thought, searching his memories, and then he saw it, Bianca frolicking through a field of flowers, his mother's laughter enveloping him in a hug.

"That would be a nice one," she said, pressing her flowers to his temple. She smiled coyly. "Your mother _and_ your sister. I would like that one."

"One memory, and you'll tell me all about Percy?" Nico felt his throat tighten at what he was about to do.

Her smile deepened. "That is all. My request is humble."

It most certainly was not, but it was fair. Drew, as much as people liked to antagonize her, was fair, if not just a bit manipulative. She had a good heart, but it had hardened through the years. He could only pray he wouldn't be the same, clutch onto Will and beg him to keep him sane and safe from that bitter loneliness. His father had told him once he wanted Nico to be the exception. And maybe Nico wanted that too.

Nico squeezed his eyes shut, and just like that, the memory was gone. He had a nagging feeling that he was forgetting something, but he couldn't even remember what he'd forgotten.

...

**In which Nico spent one year in Faerie with Drew and the fey:**

He felt bodies slide around him. He had lost a ring somewhere, but he couldn't find it within him to care. He was wasted, honestly, and probably about to throw up any minute. But this was as high as he had ever felt. And suddenly he understood why Drew and the fey stayed in Faerieland. They weren't _hiding._ They were savoring life in the way they knew best—surrounded by their own and their own joy, found and made. They were drunk on life, and it was their elven beauty and old spirits that made them so happy. That made them dance till they bled.

"Drew," he breathed, spotting her dark eyes out of the corner of vision. He stumbled over to her. While intoxicated, his vampire grace seemed to have up and left him.

She was nursing a bottle of something sparkly. Faerie alcohol, most likely. She arched an eyebrow at him. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Something like that," he agreed softly.

She smiled, and he was surprised by the kindness in her eyes. "You could stay here forever if you'd like."

He felt a lump in his throat then. "No." His father would surely be looking for him. He had killed Artemis, his sire. The entire _world_ was probably looking for him. The golden boy. The son of God.

"You look… young," she said finally, sipping politely.

He nodded before frowning. "Are you making fun of me? It's not my fault I was turned at fourteen."

She laughed, throwing her head back, and for a moment, it sounded just like the angels he hadn't seen in so long—too long. He had almost stopped believing in them, not in their existence, but in his faith in them. That had certainly happened to him regarding his father.

"No," said Drew, her eyes gleaming. "No, I'm not. It's a compliment."

"Well," he said, thinking, "then, thank you. I suppose."

She gestured for him to join her, and he obliged, sliding onto the leafy seat next to her. There was a flower crown in her head. "Pretty," he said.

She smiled with her teeth. They were slightly pink from her drink. "Thank you." She sipped some more. "Come." She held out a hand. Her nails were a shimmery gold, like heaven, and he found himself wondering if faeries really were fallen angels after all. There was pink makeup lining her eyes. "Let's dance."

Nico laughed. "I can't dance."

"Of course you can," she said, and she abandoned her drink. The fey cheered somewhere as two of them started making out. Actually, three. Three of them started making out. "Aren't you Italian?"

Nico laughed again, and he felt his eyes burn with an emotion he had not felt in so long. He took her hand, and they twirled around the dance floor. She laughed with him, telling him stories, her eyes bright. Some boy kissed him. He wasn't really sure who, couldn't remember who—it was all a blur. A good blur. The type of blur that warmed his cold, small heart. Maybe it could grow. He was sure it would grow with all of this.

Drew let him spin her. And they felt like friends, friends that could be friends for a long, long time. She laughed when he told her he was starting to like Faerieland. She told him she could give him some glitter so he would fit in here better. She spun again, her dark locks flying around her in the air, and when they were tired, they retreated back to the bar, watching the other faeries love and hate and kiss and drink, before getting up to do it all over again.

And maybe it was just because he just felt so stupidly happy (and was probably drugged from one or more of the drinks), but he pecked a friendly kiss to Drew's cheek, who beamed. "I'm hungry," she said, and they both ran off from the revel to get pizza with sugary faerie plums on top. Somewhere along the night, he got a flower crown to match hers.

...

**When Percy is reconciling with Annabeth in Ch. 8 (AKA the Bible stacking scene):**

"Annabeth, c'mon. This is ridiculous."

"Is it, though?" She glared at him like he was something she'd unfortunately stepped in. She waved a Bible threateningly, and it actually smacked into his arm this time.

He winced, jumping back a foot. His forearm was bright red; that was so unnecessary. "Okay, _ow._ And it is!" he defended. "I messed up. I _know_ I messed up. I'm sorry. I'm _so,_ so, so sorry." He paused, feeling her eyes, stern and hurt, stabbing into his chest and right into his heart. "You always break my fall," Percy said pathetically, _desperately_. "You're like my parachute."

She squinted at him. "Are you saying I'm only slowing you down from the inevitable?"

He froze. "No!"

...

**In which Nico talks with his father two years after Bianca's death:**

"I hope you're here to apologize," said Nico, kicking his feet through Lake Lyn. He knew it was disrespectful, but he didn't care. He still remembered when Idris had once been beautiful. He remembered a time when it was the heart of heaven and not a ghost town. A year ago, he would've jumped out of his skin if his father suddenly appeared next to him. Now, Nico was able to control every aspect of himself, including fear, along with his desire to knee his father in the groin and run away.

Hades eyed the ripples in the water quietly. _I'm sorry_ , he caved.

"Don't give me that shit. Talk to me like a dad _should._ Don't fucking act like you're untouchable," Nico spat, balling up his fists by his sides.

Hades sighed. There was a shower of white rain, and then he was standing on the banks next to Nico, no longer twelve feet tall, no longer speaking through his head. "I'm sorry," he said again.

Nico nodded, as if to himself, and then he threw a gold ball of fire at him.

Hades let it hit him. It shimmered against him, setting him afire, but he still didn't flinch. Resigned, he patted the fire out slowly, dimly.

It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

"She died, you know," said Nico, his voice cracking. But no, _no._ He refused to cry in front of Hades, to give him that satisfaction. "She died, and you didn't do anything." Some mornings, Nico would wake, frightened. He would realize he couldn't quite recall the sparkle in Bianca's laugh, or how the sunlight had hit her face—a Daylighter—or the exact shade of her dark brown eyes without searching for old polaroids. "She died, and you didn't care. She died, and Rachel knew it would happen, and you and your stupid angels are useless."

"We don't concern ourselves with Downworld affairs. You know this, Nico."

Nico shoved his fists into his pockets, not because he was cold, but because he thought he might have to hit him. The night air was cool around them. "You cared when Maria died," said Nico, thinking of his mother who had died peacefully on her deathbed. He missed her something fierce. "And you don't care now. You probably have a new mistress."

"Nico," he sighed.

"We're immortal, but we're replaceable." Nico snapped his fingers. Will had painted them black for him. "No wonder the demons hate you." Except Mammon. Always except Mammon, who knew too much and was the most level headed of his brothers. Nico remembered he had once wanted so badly to return to heaven when he had first been turned into a vampire. But he had known he was different after all that had happened to him, that he had changed too much, that he had lost too much. Without losing a piece of him, there was no way to reach heaven anymore. And so maybe he didn't want heaven after all.

"You're not replaceable."

"Yes, I am. But I'm not talking about me. I don't _care_ about me. Hell, I don't even care about you. Just go. There's nothing you can do to fix this."

Hades was quiet for a moment. "It just hurts to see you. Or your sister, may her soul rest in peace. You always reminded me the most of your mother."

Nico blinked back bloody tears. "That sounds like an excuse."

"Not an excuse," he rectified. "An explanation. I _am_ sorry. I'm sorry your sister isn't with you anymore. Or your mother, for that matter. I'm sorry this is hard."

Nico just kicked the lake again.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Hades asked.

"Getting redecorating ideas?" Nico asked dryly. "You could decorate your dining room with skull heads. Go through an emo phase. Buy a Green Day shirt."

Hades arched an eyebrow. "I can never tell when you're joking."

"Why are you here, Father? _How_ are you here?" Nico suddenly found it very difficult to swallow. He crossed his arms over his chest, staring out at the water. It was hard to look at his father too.

Hades traced his fingers through the water, leaving bleached white marks on the clear surface. "You're a hard vampire to find, my son. For several days I've been searching. When someone broke a seraph blade and threw it in the lake… well, that got my attention."

Nico felt a flush of shame. Then he felt angry for feeling ashamed. Why should he give a shit what his father thought? He had lost the ability to feel when Hades stopped caring. "That wasn't my fault. Calypso broke it—"

"Oh, the blades aren't important. Relics that old, I'm surprised you could hold it at all. The explosion simply gave me some clarity. It allowed me to pinpoint your location. I feel focused here. Even so, I only have a few moments."

Story of our relationship, Nico thought. You only ever have a few moments.

"So tell me, Father. What do you want?'"

Hades clasped his hands together in the sleeves of his robe. "Can you entertain the notion that I might be here to help you, not simply because I want something?"

Nico almost laughed, but his chest felt too hollow. "I can entertain the notion that you might be here for multiple reasons."

God frowned. "I suppose that's fair enough. You see information. I'm here to talk to you about being a clan leader."

Nico hesitated. He wasn't used to getting a direct answer, without games or riddles or quests, at least not since he was a boy.

"If you kill the clan leader, you rule the New York Clan," Hades said. "If you return to the manor, the second in ranks—Calypso—she will hand the position over to you."

"If I want it," said Nico. He thought about Artemis' blade going through Bianca's heart. And then he thought of how he had drained Artemis dry. Even two years later, the memory was clear as day. And the pain was as fresh.

"If you want it," he echoed assuredly. "You killed your sire. You are free to do as you wish. I would hope you would want to lead the clan, shelter the vampires younger than you, but if you do not, I would not hold it against you."

A belt seemed to tighten around Nico's ribs. He'd left Calypso just outside of Idris for a moment. And Thalia too, neither of them able to enter the holy land. "I need to get back to my companions."

"Indeed," Hades said. "And for your sister…'" Hades faltered. As always, the subject of Bianca lay between them like a loaded gun—deadly, easy to reach, impossible to ignore. "Death has always been difficult, but it is a necessary evil."

Nico paused. "What?" His eyes flickered up to meet Hades', and he wasn't surprised by the sadness in them. It seemed they had _both_ always carried a bit of melancholy with them wherever they went. Nico didn't trust himself to speak.

"I could not say who will die in the next century or even past that, but I tell you this because you are my son. You know that some deaths cannot be prevented. Some deaths should not be prevented. When the time comes, you may need to act."

Nico didn't know what that meant. He didn't want to know.

"My son." Hades's tone was almost gentle. "Whatever happens, you have earned my respect. You brought honor to our house when we stood together against the demons in Manhattan. You risked my wrath to help Will when his father was particularly bloodthirsty—guiding him, freeing him from his father's prison, pleading with me to raise the armies of Erebos to assist him. Never before have I been so harassed by one of my sons. Will this and Will that. I nearly blasted you to cinders."

Nico took a shallow breath. "I didn't do all that just for him. I did it because the whole world was in danger." As it had been, time and time again through the years. Will was one of the many he had saved, and he would not be the last. The only difference was that Will was special, and he refused to admit it.

Hades allowed himself the faintest smile, but there was nothing cruel in his eyes. "I can entertain the possibility that you acted for _multiple_ reasons," he said, throwing Nico's words back into his face. "My point is this: you and I rose to the aid of a warlock, a spawn of demons, because you convinced me to let go of my anger. I would encourage you to do likewise. My children are so rarely happy. I… I would like to see you be an exception."

Nico stared at his father. He didn't know what to do with that statement. He could accept many unreal things—hordes of demons, Nephilim, travel through shadows, Downworlders.

But tender words from the Lord of the Underworld and the Heavens? No. That made no sense.

Hades placed his hands briefly on Nico's shoulders.

Nico didn't like to be touched, but somehow this brief contact with his father felt reassuring—the same way a graveyard was reassuring. Like death, his father's presence was cold and often callous, but it was real—brutally honest, inescapably dependable. Nico found a sort of freedom in knowing that eventually, no matter what happened, he would end up at the foot of his father's throne.

"I will see you again," Hades promised. "I will prepare a room for you at the palace in case you do not survive. Perhaps your chambers would look good decorated with the skulls of monks."

"Now I can't tell if _you're_ joking."

Hades's eyes glittered as his form began to fade. "Then perhaps we are alike in some important ways." And he vanished.

Suddenly the lake before him felt very oppressive, haunted with memories of Nephilim loving and living and dying, of a time when he and Bianca had run through the mud, their toes sinking into the sand and the grass. He turned back, pressing two fingers to the statue of Jonathan the first shadowhunter's feet, respecting a tradition that could no longer be observed, and heading for the portal out. Calypso and Thalia would be waiting for him.

He glanced up at the night sky one more time. The stars seemed to wink down at him, and the breeze curling through his hair was soft and gentle, like an angel's touch. Or his mother's. He would take the position as clan leader. He would give others what he had never been given himself.

...

**In which Percy and his immortal friends go out for drinks a couple weeks after the war:**

Percy peered into a Bloody Mary drink. "That looks lethal, man."

Thalia winked. "That's the point, kid."

Will tapped a glittery blue fingernail against his glass. "Technically, I shouldn't condone this, but it's fun, and your liver doesn't work anyway. You'll see."

Nico shrugged one shoulder. "You'll probably throw up. Go slow." He was sipping cautiously too, heeding his own advice.

"Is this how you built a resistance?" Percy picked up the glass.

Nico nodded. "Took me two hundred years, but I got it."

Percy tensed. "You know I'm underage, right?"

"And who's going to catch you? The police?" Calypso snorted. "You're an immortal, baby. Take advantage of it. We don't card Downworlders here."

Percy took a little red straw and sipped cautiously. It was good. Calypso had mixed extra O negative blood into it to help it pass a little bit easier and make it sweeter, but his stomach still made a growl of protest. He continued to drink anyway.

Music pounded around them in Hunter's Moon, a Downworld bar on Hester's Street in Manhattan, New York City. The Downworld knew how to party—that was for sure. In the center of the dance floor, faeries swished around, silvery, shimmery sweet dripping from their limbs. The werewolves hogged the menus, ordering all types of meats, and the warlocks were all about, most of them drinking a lot. It seemed Thalia wasn't the only one fond of her alcohol. The vampires were mostly not drinking or eating, sticking to the dance floor with the fey.

"I heard Hera got extensions," said Thalia.

" _No."_ Will sipped from the fruity drink, tucking his blond hair behind his ear.

" _Yes._ It's horrendous. It doesn't even match her dark hair."

"I heard Zeus is dating a new girl," Calypso piped up.

Thalia slapped her palm onto the table, downing the rest of her margarita. She gasped when she pulled away from the drained glass, irises glittering with curiosity. "Who?"

"Europa." Calypso grinned while Thalia cackled.

"Again? He didn't!"

"He did!" Will countered. "I heard that too, and I heard Hera tried to kill the poor girl."

"Jealous bitch," said Nico, and Thalia snorted.

There was an ease to the way they spoke, and Percy could only guess they did this often, coming to the bar and gossiping. He smiled involuntarily. The vibrations of the pulsing music and the thrilling mood was getting to him. Calypso had told him, when first inviting him to join them, that they liked to call themselves the Immortal Gossips. Nico had interrupted, saying only Calypso and Will called themselves that, but she had just laughed.

"Who are these people?" Percy asked, sipping slowly.

Will waved his hand dismissively. "Zeus is an ex-member of the New York werewolf pack."

"What happened to him?"

"Reyna kicked him out for being a creep," Calypso supplied. "And Hera's a faerie. Super annoying. Super pretty. Super jealous. Europa's the beta of the Chicago pack. I can't believe he tried to screw over a faerie. Idiot."

Percy laughed. He was starting to feel a little dizzy.

"I'm hungry," Thalia said out of the blue.

"I fucking love you," said Will, slightly tipsy. He waved a hand, and a pretty faerie came by, holding a couple menus.

Percy skimmed the menu, his eyes catching at certain odd items:

_-Toasted bat sandwiches._

_-All blood types available._

_-Freshly caught sea bass (with eyes still intact)._

_-Luscious faerie plums._

_-Wide variety of raw meat._

_-Try out famous locusts and honey!_

"Don't order any of the faerie food." It was Nico. "It tends to make everyone but them a little crazy. One minute you're munching a faerie plm, the next minute you're running naked down Madison Avenue with antlers on your head. _Not,_ " he added hastily, "that this has ever happened to me."

Will smirked at his boyfriend. "I'll take a slider, thanks, and another strawberry lime margarita." He handed the menu back to the faerie, who simpered at him, batting her long eyelashes, all of which he ignored.

"I'll just take more vodka." Thalia hadn't even looked at the menu. Her tolerance was frightening, even by human standards. " _Lots_ more vodka. Don't dilute it, or I'll come after you." She grinned mischievously.

"I'll take coconut pancakes. Only one, though." Calypso was still building her tolerance, even after all these years. "Oh, and I'll take some O positive and B neg, mixed and chilled," she said politely, stacking the rest of the menus and returning them.

"Make that two," Nico added. He eyed at Percy, who was beginning to look a little green. "Actually, make it three. And add a bit of the warlock bubble fizz. He looks like he's going to throw up." He smiled charmingly at the faerie. "That'll be all."

"It hurts," Percy groaned miserably, laying his forehead flat onto the table before them. Will patted his back sympathetically.

Thalia just kept drinking, uncaring. "Welcome to the Downworld; you're finally and officially one of us."

...

**In which Nico and his father speak after the war and renegotiated peace treaties are over:**

Nico stood on the banks of Lake Lyn. He hadn't been here in at least a few thousand years, and he couldn't help but think what Percy had thought of it. If he had thought it was as beautiful as it used to be. If he had been afraid, being there. Perhaps he would ask later, but, for now, he had another job.

He let his blood run into the lake. "I wish to see Hades."

"You summoned me?" It was the first thing Hades said. He had already shrunk back to the height and size of a human, joining him on the shore rocks. He had long learned Nico despised being spoken to in the head like he was just another desperate supernatural being, summoning God out of fear and necessity. "You could've just called for me."

"I called for you then too," Nico said. "For years and years and years."

"And then you stopped," said Hades.

"Yes," he agreed. "And then I did." Because he had never come, not even when he screamed his voice hoarse, not even when he couldn't speak for days after, the weight of saying God's name heavy on his sinned tongue.

"Any particular reason you've called upon me now?" Lyn sparkled behind him. He looked the same as he always did—immortal and sad and healthy and tired. "That Jackson boy already took the blood back if that is why you asked to see me." He studied his son warily, _nervously_ like he thought he would try to blast him with powers he had inherited from his father in the first place.

Nico blinked. And he wrapped his arms around him in the tightest hug he could possibly muster.

* * *

**Non-Canon:**

**In which Percy and Annabeth visit Piper for help during the war:**

"I know what you are," said Piper, crossing her arms over her chest.

Percy rolled his eyes. "How many of you—this isn't Twilight, damn it."

She grinned. "You're supposed to say 'say it.'"

He rubbed his temples. "If I say so, will you be serious?"

"Yes."

"Fine. Start from the top. If we're going to do this, might as well do this right."

Piper turned away from him dramatically, her expression twisting into one of a sullen teenager.

"I know what you are."

"Say it." Percy felt a full-body cringe run through him. "Out loud. Say it."

"Vampire." Piper squealed only a moment later, her hands flying to her cheeks in a poor effort to curb her excitement. "That was _so_ cool."

"Piper, people are dying." He tapped his foot impatiently.

"Oh, right."

...

**In which Percy is the shittiest chosen one of all time:**

"How did you do that?" Calypso was amazed, staring at the passed out faerie between them. Her eyes shone.

Percy didn't want to say that he had accidentally punched her while putting on his sweater and promptly knocked her out. Or that his fist consequently now hurt. "Um, it just felt right?" He discreetly shook his hand out, and he winced, mouthing _motherfucker_ when she glanced away.

...

 **In which Nico and Thalia have** _ **interesting**_ **information (that is non-canon to TMI) to bestow upon newly turned Percy in Ch. 1:**

Percy rubbed his temples, quickly growing tired with the info dumps. "So you're saying we can share our power with one soul and make them immortal too. Only one."

Thalia nodded.

Percy stared at Nico. "So who did you choose? A lover? A friend?"

Nico shook his head. "No, I have seen them all fade away as time passes."

"Would you ever consider sharing your immortality with a lover?"

He shook his head again. "I can't."

"Why not?" Percy was genuinely curious. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"I'm already sharing my power."

"With who?"

Nico looked down. "My cat."

...

**In which Percy doesn't know that the Turtle Pond in Central Park is an entrance to Faerieland, so he seeks out help from a warlock in Ch. 4 with the hope they'll portal him there:**

Percy sat across from the young girl. She looked like she was maybe thirteen, barely younger than Nico, but like Nico, she was immortal. Percy wasn't quite sure how old she was at all.

"So what was it like, seeing ancient civilizations rise and fall like that?" he asked, making polite conversation. His mother had ensured his manners would be flawless, and he thought the least he could do was ask about her life before requesting favors. "And the pyramids? The growth and expansion of the new world?"

Hazel stilled, looking awkward. "No… no I was born in 1928. So like, wow I'm _going_ to see some cool stuff, but, I mean, I'm not that much older than just a really, really old person, you know? Radios were big back then. So big. But now we have phones, so that's cool too. Um. Rhinos existed then too. I don't think I ever saw one in person, though. Cool." She twisted her curls nervously.

"Would you rather talk about faeries?" Percy asked, taking pity on her and feeling equally embarrassed and awkward.

"Yes!" Her eyes were wide, and she cleared her throat. "I mean, yeah, sure. I know more about them anyway."

"So," Percy began, lacing his fingers together and setting his hands in front of them on the table like a businessman. He only felt slightly silly. "How do I get to Faerie?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so clearly I failed if most of you didn't understand the last chapter lol. (Which is not your fault. Some of you guys called yourselves stupid, and that's not true lmao. Sometimes writers just don't do a good job at conveying something, and that's okay. Trial and error, right?)
> 
> BASICALLY I left it open-ended at the end of ch 10. I meant it to have nothing confirmed nor denied so that you as a reader can kind of decide for yourself what Percy wished for if you don't like the way it ended. However, it's written to imply that Percy doesn't wish for anything at all. Percy thinks about how he wants to be part of the supernatural world with these new friends but also part of the mortal world with Annabeth and his family and human friends, so he decides not to wish for anything at all.
> 
> And yes, he knows this means someday Annabeth/his human friends/his family will die while he won't, and yes, he knows that it'll be hard to watch them grow up and live their lives while he still looks seventeen, but he also knows that he wants to rebuild the supernatural world to be a better place than it was before, and he knows that so many people above saw this happen to him (including Rachel who can see the future), and didn't prevent it, so maybe he's just destined to be this way. And he knows that if he asked to turn back human, he would never see Nico/Thalia/Will/Calypso ever again. They wouldn't be allowed to fraternize with the humans, and he wouldn't have any reason to cross paths with them, and being a Daylighter is the only way he can change between both worlds.
> 
> It's not the happiest of endings because we know the future will hold a lot of grief for Percy, but it's a little bit happy anyway. And I think that sort of bittersweet happiness is where I like my stories to be lol.
> 
> Ik Call me Indecisive pointed out that she thought Percy would choose mortality just like how he rejected immortality in The Last Olympian. This is different bc in TLO, there was nothing enticing about being immortal other than being a god. He wasn't friends w anyone on the council or anything. Here, he has dear friends in both worlds, so he rejects mortality. It's character growth too. He went to Faerieland at first to be a mortal, got screwed over, grew close to his supernatural friends, and learned to be content with what he has.
> 
> There were also a lot of questions about Nico. I hope some of these outtake scenes satiated your need to know more about him. I had to cut a lot of the backstory on him because he wasn’t the main character, like Percy, and this story just was not long enough to really delve into his past.
> 
> Also, some of y'all were wondering what the future of Percabeth would look like. No, they're not having a Twilight vampire baby lol. It's mentioned a few times that vampires are sterile/infertile. (It's bc they're undead creatures y'all. How are they gon make sperm and eggs c'mon now. Basic biology). They probably won't get married either bc Percy will forever look 17, and that'd be pretty creepy when Annabeth starts to look about 40 bc then they'd never be able to hang out in public without everyone thinking she's his grandmother. Only his parents and their friends would know (they can't ever tell Annabeth's side of the family bc her mom’s so religious), so it wouldn't work out. In all honesty, Annabeth will either die a maiden (which is kewl too. You don't gotta get married), or she'll marry someone else eventually and maybe have kids with them, and the entire Chase family tree will be forever protected by this one vampire who just knows them all as time passes. (If you've read TMI, think of him like Magnus, watching over the Herondales, Carstairs, Blackthorns, Fairchilds, Lightwoods, etc).
> 
> I hope this was helpful.
> 
> All the fricking love,
> 
> Kit xxx


End file.
